


A Tantrum and a Know-It-All Grin: A Collection of Fenris/f!Hawke Oneshots

by queenofkadara



Series: Underneath It All: Fenris & Rynne Hawke [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Bad Flirting, F/M, Falling In Love, Fenris slowly realizing he's got a thing for Hawke, Flirting, Fluff, Hawke being a sometimes TERRIBLE flirt, He's all angsty about it of course, Love, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 17:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 111,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Hawke flirts with everybody. It's just what she does. She makes snappy remarks at inopportune times, and she befriends every damned mage she meets, and sheflirts.Fenris has no reason to think she wants him in particular. He has no particular reason to want her, either; she drives him up the wall, after all.Except that Fenris does want her.Alot.*************Small snapshots of time through the course Fenhawke's canon relationship. Major relationship moments are released as oneshots inthe rest of the series.(Sorry, I was disorganized when I started writing this ship.)NSFW in Chapter 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27, 29, and 30.





	1. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this banter with Varric](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_a2LYzBYLE) WHICH I LOVE. A LOT.
> 
> This takes place in Act I.

“Hellooo! Anyone home aside from the rats? They’ve got white hair too, but I daresay they’re not quite as handsome as their host.” 

Fenris emerged from his makeshift bedroom and made his way toward the foyer. “Hello, Hawke,” he said wearily.

The Fereldan mage folded her arms and smirked as he approached. “Good morning sunshine,” she said jauntily. “Ready for another day of adventure?” 

“Indeed,” he grunted. He nodded politely to Varric and ignored Merrill as he picked up his mace.

Varric raised an eyebrow as they emerged from his dank mansion and stepped out into the buttery sunshine. “What do you even do in that gigantic house all day?” he asked.

“I dance, of course,” Fenris replied. 

All three of his companions turned to stare. Varric grinned. “What, really?”

“Yes,” Fenris deadpanned. “I run from room to room choreographing routines.” He smirked.

Varric guffawed. “You’re actually joking!” He elbowed Hawke. “Alert the Chantry. They need to put this on the calendar.”

“And you thought I was always serious,” Fenris drawled. His gaze drifted up to Hawke.

She was beaming at him. There was no sarcastic lilt in her expression for once, no hint of a joke behind the little curl of her raspberry-red lips. Hawke was simply beaming, her face shining with happiness and her bronze eyes surprisingly… soft. 

Fenris swallowed. There was a bubble in his belly, a rising of heat like the starting simmer of a cooking pot. It wasn’t the usual boil of rage, though - it wasn’t that, it was -

“Oh look!” Merrill squealed. “He’s even smiling! Quick, someone draw a picture!”

Fenris immediately wiped the unwitting smile from his face and scowled at the little witch. “I am not smiling,” he snapped. 

She wilted in disappointment. “Ah, not anymore. It was too good to be true.” She sighed and pranced away. 

Annoyed, Fenris watched her go, then glanced at Hawke again. She was still smiling. “Dancing, hmm?” she purred. “I knew that body was good for something more than swinging swords and ripping hearts out.”

Fenris ignored the warmth at the tips of his ears and shrugged casually as they continued in Merrill’s wake. “You are a wise woman, then. Perhaps I’ll show you a move or two sometime.” 

Her smile turned wicked, her bronze eyes flashing with familiar humour. “Ooh, I should be so lucky. I’ll hold you to that.” She gave him a friendly punch in the arm, then jogged off to join Merrill. 

Fenris huffed in amusement, then realized that Varric was still walking beside him. And that Varric was quiet. 

Unusually quiet. 

“Can I help you?” Fenris said flatly. 

“No,” Varric said. The dwarf blinked innocently up at him. “Don’t mind me. I’m just watching.” 

Fenris grunted. “Sorry to disappoint, but you are not my type.” 

“I can see that,” Varric said. 

His gaze was sly, and Fenris didn’t bother to respond. Hawke’s little group were such a bunch of busybodies. Sometimes Fenris wondered if having companions was more trouble than it was worth.

A tinkling laugh drifted back from the two women walking ahead, and Fenris watched surreptitiously as Hawke gave Merrill a playful little push, her hips swaying jauntily as she led them to the market.

 _Trouble indeed,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone fancies stopping by!


	2. Why Can't We Be Friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fictober 2018 prompt fill for @cutieink on Tumblr. The prompt: "But I will never forget."
> 
> This takes place during Act I. It revolves around the sidequest [Act of Mercy](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Act_of_Mercy).

Fenris watched as Grace and her ragtag group of mages ran away down one of the side passages, then spun toward Hawke.

“Did you not witness the same display that I just saw?” he hissed. He waved an angry hand toward Decimus’s mutilated corpse. “This mage becomes an abomination right before your eyes, and you allow the rest of his followers to simply flee?”

Hawke shot him a comical little grimace. “You know I can never get enough of your sweet talking, but can you hold it for just a few minutes? We should hurry back to Thrask.” She tapped Varric’s shoulder as they jogged back toward the passageway. “Prepare that silver tongue. I think we’re going to need it.”

“You got it,” Varric said, and then they ran into a group of undead. 

Fenris snarled. A quick clenching of his fist followed by a flare of pain rippling across his body, and all at once his skin was alight with the cursed blue light of lyrium. He flung himself into the fray, his greatsword swinging and slamming into foe after foe. With every reanimated corpse that fell, Fenris hoped his rage would cool, but each strike only seemed to make his anger burn hotter. 

Finally their foes were destroyed. Fenris panted heavily, sword dangling from one hand as he allowed his tattoos to fade back to a dull white. Then he realized his skin was lit by a second magical glow. 

He raised his chin and met Hawke’s eyes. She waved her hand and lowered the barrier she’d raised around him, then offered him a tentative smile, but he pursed his lips and turned away. 

They made their way out of the cavern in silence. True to form, Hawke and Varric tricked the Templars into thinking the blood mages were dead, and Fenris glared at Thrask as the Templar thanked Hawke for her compassion and her help.

 _He has one job, and he’s failing to do it,_ Fenris thought angrily. As Hawke led them to the road back to Kirkwall, Fenris fell back to the rear of the group in a clear attempt to avoid her.

Not clear enough, it seemed. A minute later, Hawke slipped to the back of the group to join him. 

He clenched his jaw and avoided her bright copper eyes as she gazed at him. “Do you want to continue yelling at me now?” she offered. “I’m all ears.”

“No,” he snapped. “I want to be left in peace.”

“Peace and quiet. All right. I can do that,” she said, then fell silent. 

Fenris scowled and waited.

Sure enough, ten seconds later, Hawke spoke again. “I had to make a decision quickly. Grace was scared, Thrask was waiting, those other Templars were on their way… We couldn’t twiddle our thumbs forever. Well, we probably could, but it would get quite boring-”

He cut her off with a glare. “You don’t know what calamity your _decision_ will have wrought,” he said. “You think too highly of them, Hawke. Other mages are not like you. They could be cutting their wrists to prepare their revenge as we speak!”

“Or they could be, you know, running away to make a new life like they said they would,” Hawke replied. “Come on, Fenris, I’m not going to condemn people for something they _might_ do. That’s hardly fair, is it?”

Her voice was light and breezy as usual, but her pretty face was twisted in distress, and Fenris was seized by a strange desire to stroke the anxious crease from her brow. 

The urge was gone as quickly as it had come, overridden by his anger. “Do not come to me for help if the work of these blighted blood mages backfires in your face,” he told her, then sped up his pace to evade her.

She caught up to him. “Fine,” she said pertly. “I don’t need your muscles anyway. I’ll bring Aveline for that. And I’ll bring Anders along so I can stare at his fine ass instead of yours.” 

Fenris growled at her and continued his rapid stride. Then suddenly Hawke stepped in front of him. 

“Fenris, please,” she said. “What’s done is done. Life’s too short to stay pissed at me forever, right?” She tilted her head and gave him a pleading half-smile. “Let’s just get back to Kirkwall and have a drink or something. I’ll have forgotten all of this by tomorrow, honestly.”

That was her problem. Nothing was a big deal for her. As far as Hawke was concerned, their days were just a sequence of humorous capers with no real long-term consequences. This incident of blood magic might mean nothing to her, but to Fenris it was a clear sign of a sickness that was spreading through this blasted place more insidiously than the Blight. 

He took one slow step closer to her. “But _I_ will never forget,” he growled, then stepped around her and strode away along the path. 

Hawke finally seemed to get the message: she didn’t try to speak to him again that day. Once they were back in Kirkwall, Fenris left the group with a terse word of goodbye, then shut himself in his mansion for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Fenris awoke at his usual time. Hawke usually arrived within an hour of his rising to chivvy him out of the mansion, and Fenris mulled over what to say to her while he pulled on his armour. He was still angry about yesterday, and he didn’t want to talk about it any further; their ‘talks’ always seemed to devolve into him yelling at her while she made stupid jokes, so there was no point. 

As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered thinking about it, for Hawke didn’t show up. 

Fenris was relieved. He didn’t want to see her, after all. He spent the day peacefully cleaning his weapons and oiling his armour. 

The next day, Fenris woke early again, and was mildly surprised when Hawke again didn’t show. He spent the morning staring resentfully at the collection of abandoned books in the mansion library and wondering about the contents of their indecipherable pages. He spent the afternoon testing his weapons on the furniture in one of the spare bedrooms. Isabela arrived for a visit that evening, and the two hours they spent mindlessly flirting was a welcome break from the monotony of his day.

On the third day that Hawke didn’t show, Fenris wandered around the mansion poking at the dusty vases and the dilapidated furniture. He spent the morning thinking about cleaning the place, then spent the afternoon shattering almost all of the dishware in the house doing target practice with some throwing knives that Isabela had left behind. Varric showed up that night with a copy of _Hard In Hightown: Siege Harder,_ and the dwarf’s oration was entertaining - and awful - enough to distract him from the agitation that had begun to churn in his belly over the past three days.

On the fourth day, Fenris awoke earlier than usual. He pulled on his armour and racked his greatsword on his back, then made his way Gamlen’s hovel in Lowtown. 

Hawke’s eyebrows jumped high on her forehead when she answered the door. “Fenris!” she exclaimed, then opened the door wider to let him in. “What are you doing here?” 

He cautiously stepped into their tiny home and looked around - none of her family were awake - then folded his arms and met her bright amber gaze. “I had an early start. What foolish shenanigans are on the agenda today?”

She stared up at him, her bright amber eyes wide. “I thought you didn’t want… er, you know, our argument and whatnot. Isabela and Varric said you were fine on your own…” 

He interrupted her quietly but firmly. “I am not happy about what happened. But…” He trailed off, then sighed. “I understand your point about not punishing crimes that are not yet committed. I don’t agree with you, not when it comes to blood magic,” he clarified sternly, “but… I understand.” 

She eyed him cautiously, her fingers toying nervously the slim red scarf around her neck. “So that means…?” 

He shifted restlessly, then unfolded his arms. “It means I am at your disposal,” he said. “If you have need of my sword.” 

She gazed at him for another second. Then a slow, mischievous smile began to creep across her face, and Fenris wilted slightly as he realized what he’d said. He knew precisely where this was going.

As expected, Hawke bit her lip flirtatiously. “Oh Fenris,” she purred. “I would be a fool to turn down your sword. It’s so... long and hard and steely.” She ran her salacious gaze over his body from head to toe.

Fenris rolled his eyes and reached for the doorknob. “I rescind my offer. Farewell and good luck.” 

She laughed and held up her hands in surrender. “All right, all right! Maker’s balls, you’re so broody. Give me five minutes to change, and we’ll head out to get the others. Hang out with Toby while you’re waiting. He really missed your company.” 

Her shit-eating grin was gentler now, and Fenris smirked faintly as he crouched to scratch her mabari behind the ears. “It’s good to see you too,” he grunted. 

She chuckled and squeezed his shoulder, then disappeared into the room she shared with her mother. Fenris settled onto the threadbare carpet to wait, his fingers idly running through Toby’s fur.

Hawke was infuriating. Fenris disliked half the things she chose to do. But at least her logic and her reasoning were sound, even if her final choices weren’t. And she _listened_ , unlike Anders or Merrill.

Fenris sighed. Aggravating though it was to admit, it seemed that he preferred to spend his days arguing with Hawke than to spend them alone. 

Only time would tell if that was a good thing or a bad one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like! :)


	3. Blood Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I originally posted this on Tumblr and LIKE AN IDIOT I forgot that Fenris doesn't start learning to read until later in Act 2. So I fixed it and here is the result. #mybad #retcon

Hawke smiled as Fenris handed her a chipped stein of herbal tea. “Thanks,” she said, then hunched forward in her chair and groaned. 

Fenris watched in alarm as she wrapped one arm around her middle, her pretty face twisting into a grimace. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” she sighed. She took a sip from the stein, then poked herself in the abdomen and tossed him a rueful half-smile. “Just the blood magic, you know.” 

_What?_ Fenris stiffened instantly, his eyes flicking over her body as she casually raised the cup to her lips again. She looked like her normal self, not at all like a monster - but that was the danger, wasn’t it? Blood mages looked like any other person walking down the street, until their misbegotten magic came bursting from their veins like maggots from a rotten corpse.

“You’re involved with blood magic? _You?_ ” he said sharply. 

She stared at him blankly for a second, then barked out a laugh. “Oh Maker’s balls, no! No no, it’s just a stupid thing Bethany and I used to say when it was that time of the month. You know,” she said slowly as Fenris continued to glare at her, “our time of the moon. Menstruation,” she finished bluntly. 

“I know what you mean,” he snapped. “I’m not a fool.”

“Oh good. You never know with men, do you? Some of you lot are completely oblivious.” She winked at him, then pulled her feet up comfortably on her chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I mean, now that we’re talking about it, I wonder what it’s like for blood mages when they’re on the rag. D’you suppose it’s easier for them to channel their powers? They wouldn’t have to cut-”

“You are really considering this right now? In _my_ house?” he interrupted. A hot pulsing feeling was rising in his cheeks and ears, rising in tandem with his voice. Hawke was no blood mage, Fenris knew that; she was made of sterner stuff than the likes of Merrill. But there was a hard and bitter voice at the back of his mind, hissing in his ear that _nobody_ ever resisted when the dark temptation of power was so strong.

“What?” Hawke said in surprise. “No, of course not, I’m just joking-”

“So blood magic is a joke to you?” he demanded. “You really think it is something to laugh about? I have seen children turned inside out for the power that was held in their veins. Do not think you will make me laugh about something such as this.”

He ran out of breath, and only realized how loudly he’d been yelling when the echoes of his own voice reached his ears. He dragged a few calming breaths into his heaving chest and finally met Hawke’s eyes.

She was deathly pale and looked absolutely stricken. He’d wanted her to take this seriously, but the uncharacteristic gravity of her expression somehow only made him angrier. 

She rose from the table and took a step toward him. “Fenris…”

He fingers reached for him, elegant fingers that wielded a staff far too well. He wrenched his arm away from her outstretched hand. “Do not touch me,” he snapped, then turned on his heel and strode away to the back of the mansion. 

Fenris sat alone in the back room for a long time. Ugly memories of the Imperium waxed and waned in his mind until it felt like his body was being battered by waves of rage. He had no idea what time it was when the blood stopped thundering in his ears. When he finally emerged from the back room, Hawke was gone. 

Her absence was not unexpected, but an odd pang still poked at his chest as he seated himself at the table. 

Some time later, a knock at the door pulled him from his dark reverie. He swiftly rose from the table and opened the door, and was slightly disappointed to find Varric there. 

Fenris frowned. “Varric?”

Varric didn’t look particularly thrilled to be at his doorstep, either. “Hey,” he drawled as Fenris stepped aside to let him in. “I’m just a messenger. I come bearing gifts.” He handed Fenris a bottle with a note attached. 

Nonplussed, Fenris studied the bottIe: it was very high-quality brandy. He scowled at the note, then handed it to Varric. “I can’t read this,” he muttered.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, I’m meant to…” Varric looked even more disgruntled as he took the note back. “I’m supposed to read this to you. D’you mind?”

Fenris shrugged bad-temperedly, and Varric cleared his throat uncomfortably before reading aloud:

> Fenris, 
> 
> This is for you. Maybe if you drink enough of it, you’ll forget what a complete stupid idiot I am! Wouldn’t that be nice? 
> 
> Hawke xoxo 
> 
> p.s. I’m an idiot. Or did I mention that already? 

Varric handed the note back to Fenris, then raised one eyebrow. “She did something to piss you off, I guess?”

Fenris stared at him. A flippant note and a bottle of booze? Clearly this was Hawke’s idea of an apology. An awkward moment later, he realized Varric was still waiting for some kind of response. “Perhaps,” he grunted. 

Varric eyed him for a moment longer, then shook his head. “All right, Broody, I get the picture. See you.” He wandered out of the mansion with a lazy wave. 

Fenris closed the door and eyed the bottle of brandy in his hand. It was Antivan, and far nicer than anything they stocked at the Hanged Man. A very fine bottle indeed. And wasted on him, when Hawke knew full well that wine was his drink of choice. 

Fenris stood at the table for some time, idly rubbing her note between his fingers. Her stricken expression floated across his mind, leaving an uncomfortable needling sensation in his belly. 

When the wriggling discomfort finally became too much to bear, Fenris took the bottle of brandy and headed out into Hightown’s cool nighttime air. 

Fifteen minutes later, Bodahn led him into Hawke’s mansion. He wandered into her study, and she stared up at him from her cross-legged position on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“Fenris? I didn’t think - I mean, what are you doing here?” A wan little smirk lifted her lips. “I hope this is a booty call. A girl can dream.” 

Her tone was as cheerfully glib as usual, but Fenris could see the apprehension in her eyes. He snorted indelicately and sat beside her. “Here.” He extended the bottle of brandy to her. 

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked between his face and the bottle. “That’s supposed to be for you,” she said. 

Fenris shrugged. He found it hard to meet her brilliant bronze eyes for some reason. “I’m not a child. I can share,” he groused. He unscrewed the cap, then offered the bottle to her again. 

A moment later, she took the bottle. “Why, Fenris! My favourite, Antivan brandy! You shouldn’t have,” she quipped.

She really could be an idiot sometimes. Fenris shook his head. “Shut up, Hawke,” he drawled. 

She snickered, then took a gulp from the bottle and handed it back. “I will if you will.” 

Fenris smiled faintly as he took the brandy. Hawke might be a mage and a pain in his ass, but she knew when to pull back. He’d seen how controlled she was, even in the heat of a fight. She was… different than the other mages he‘d known. If any mage could resist the horrific temptation of blood magic, it was her.

He sipped from the bottle and surreptitiously studied the long lines of her bare legs as she stretched them out in front of the fireplace. 

If Hawke decided to pursue certain... _other_ kinds of temptations, however, Fenris could admit that he wouldn’t be opposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you would like! xo


	4. Mischief: A Cat In Your Trousers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fictober 2018 prompt fill for @iarollane: "Oh please, like this is the worst I have done."
> 
> This takes place early in Act 2.

Fenris watched with faint amusement as Aveline paced back and forth, her freckled face creased with a scowl as she read off the charges. “Public indecency - thanks to the pirate whore, no doubt - obstructing the duties of the city guard, and… animal abuse? _Hawke!_ ”

“Hey, I want to contest that,” Hawke protested. “There was no animal abuse! The cat was perfectly fine. It came out of the fight better than your guard! You know Anders would have murdered me otherwise.” 

Aveline exhaled sharply through her nose and fisted her hands on her hips. “Hawke,” she snapped, “you’ve gone too far this time. I can’t protect you from the consequences when your only goal was to cause mischief!” 

“Oh please, like this is the worst I’ve done,” Hawke said breezily. “Don’t you remember that time in the Chantry with the blueberry pie and the...?” She trailed off as Varric subtly shook his head. “Oh,” she said sadly. “No. You, er, weren’t there that time. Um…” 

Aveline threw her hands up, then headed for the office door. At the threshold, she turned and pointed a stern finger at Hawke. “Stay here,” she ordered. “I can probably get you off with a fine _if_ I get to the Viscount before that injured guard does. But I don’t want to hear about anything like this happening again.” She slammed the door behind her. 

Isabela yawned and leaned back on the bench in Aveline’s office where she and Hawke were seated. “Well, she gave us a loophole at least. We’ll just make sure she doesn’t hear about it next time.” She nudged Hawke playfully. 

Hakwe sighed and propped her chin on her fists, looking for all the world like a chastised child. “It’s not fair,” she complained. “We spend most of our time running around and killing baddies and making sure everyone in this Maker-forsaken city is all right. A girl’s got to have a little fun now and then, don’t you think?” 

“I’m with you, sweet thing,” Isabela said. “You don’t need to tell me twice.” 

Hawke glanced pleadingly at Varric, who lifted his hands innocently. “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not getting involved in an argument with Aveline.” 

Finally Hawke lifted her plaintive gaze to Fenris’s face. He shrugged and folded his arms. “Don’t look at me either,” he drawled. “I’m just paying off my debt.” 

Hawke scoffed and gave Fenris a deeply skeptical look. “You are _not_ just here because you owe me. You’re having a good time. I saw you smiling when that guard’s trousers hit the ground. You _almost_ laughed.”

“You are mistaken,” Fenris replied smoothly. “I wasn’t smiling at that. I was imagining the moment when I’m no longer being dragged into these kinds of debacles by a certain flippant mage.” 

Hawke smiled and tilted her head in a coquettish manner. “Oh, Fenris. Always pretending you’re here under duress when I know you like hanging out with us. Deep down in that armoured chest, you love us, really.” 

Fenris pursed his lips and didn’t reply, but Hawke only smiled all the wider. “It’s okay, you don’t need to admit it,” she said. “I know the truth.” She winked at him, then turned to Isabela and began whispering. 

“Right,” Varric said quietly - but not quietly enough that Fenris couldn’t hear. “That’s why you’ve stuck around. Because you love us.” He placed an ever-so-slight emphasis on the word _us_. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Varric shrugged innocently. “Nope. Nothing to say. I’m just… observing.”

“Observing _and_ commenting,” Fenris murmured resentfully. “If you have opinions, go home and write them in your book.” He turned away from Varric, and incidentally back toward Hawke and Isabela.

Hawke looked up as Fenris turned to face them. “A cat in a man’s trousers,” she announced. “What’s another way to say that?”

“Don’t,” Fenris warned. 

As always, she grinned and ignored him. “Pussy in your pants. It rolls off the tongue, no?”

 _Stupid,_ Fenris thought. It was such a stupid joke. Not even a joke, really - and it wasn’t even funny. But the corners of his traitorous mouth twitched. 

Isabela grunted in annoyance. “Damn. I was _sure_ he wouldn’t smile at that one. You always get him to smile.” She pulled a silver from the pouch on her belt and slapped it into Hawke’s outstretched palm. 

Fenris frowned. “You’re taking bets on what will make me smile?” he demanded. 

“Yep,” Hawke said pertly. “Isabela’s lost a lot of silver today.” She flipped the coin jauntily before tucking it into her own coin pouch, then smiled up at him again. “What Isabela doesn’t realize is that I’ll do anything to make you smile. Including coaxing a randy cat into a guard’s carelessly dropped trousers.” 

Isabela burst into laughter, and even Varric began to chuckle, but Fenris ignored them as he studied Hawke’s smiling face. The suspicion in his belly was instinctive, but there was something else there too, something warm and pleasantly jittery that was both familiar and foreign.

She grinned more broadly when he didn’t respond. “Pussy in your pants,” she said again. 

He shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

Her bronze eyes twinkled brightly. “Only for you, Fenris,” she said. “Only for you.” Then she suddenly gasped and elbowed Isabela, and the two women resumed their furiously whispered conversation. Fenris heard the word ‘cocks’ before deciding there was no point trying to listen in. 

_Stupid,_ he thought. Then he turned away to find Varric watching him appraisingly. 

Fenris forced the smirk from his face and scowled. “Shut up,” he muttered. 

Varric shrugged complacently and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I didn't say a word, elf,” he said. “Not a single word.” 

Fenris shot him a skeptical look, then folded his arms and leaned against the wall to wait for Aveline’s return.

Varric was wrong. Fenris didn’t _love_ Hawke. He didn’t love anyone.

At least not that he remembered, which wasn’t saying much. 

But maybe his reasons for sticking around in Kirkwall weren’t just about paying a debt anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you want to swing by!


	5. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fictober 2018 prompt fill for @thebeautifulsilverhare on Tumblr. The prompt: "Remember. You have to remember."
> 
> This is set early in Act 2.

Sleeping with Hawke would be a bad idea. 

Not that Fenris was really considering it. Of course he wasn’t. She was a mage, after all, and mages couldn’t be trusted - especially not the ones who lived outside of Templar control. All they cared about was power: gaining it, keeping it, growing it. No, Fenris wasn’t at all interested in getting involved with a mage. 

Except Hawke wasn’t that kind of mage. 

As the months went by, Fenris waited for her to fall into temptation, but she never did. She never lashed out in anger. She never lost her temper and flung fire from her fists like he’d seen far too many times in the past. Her eyes didn’t glow with demonic rage like Anders’s did, and she didn’t cede to the power in her veins like Merrill was wont to do. 

But her magic abilities weren’t the only reason that sleeping with Hawke would be a bad idea. 

She irritated him. She never took anything seriously. From the moment they’d first met, she was being flippant when they all could have been killed. And the jokes never let up. Couldn’t she see that the world wasn’t just one big rotating platter of jokes waiting to be cracked? There were slavers, murderers, Carta, rapists, and blood mages lurking around every corner of this blighted city. But Hawke just smiled and laughed and joked around with every person she met, like nothing worse than a bruise or a scrape could ever happen to her.

Except her unwavering sense of humour wasn’t really that annoying.

As the months went by, Fenris stopped being bothered by her incessant tomfoolery. He found himself smiling when the others laughed, and laughing when the others were wheezing with mirth. Instead of shrugging off her silly repartee, he found himself returning it quip-for-quip. Maybe he was relaxing with every month that Danarius didn’t show up at his doorstep, or maybe she was just wearing him down, but the city didn’t seem so bad when he saw it through the lens of Hawke’s constant comedy. 

But her facetious attitude wasn’t the only reason that sleeping with Hawke would be a bad idea. 

Fenris didn’t know if _he’d_ ever slept with anyone else before. It seemed... wrong, somehow, to think about stretching her naked body on his bed if he didn’t know his own sexual history. Maybe he’d been with a hundred people before. Or maybe he’d never been with anyone, and the roguish boldness he felt when they locked eyes was completely misplaced. 

Except… he didn’t think Hawke would even care. 

As the months went by, he enjoyed her flirtatious banter more and more. When he was feeling especially reckless during their seemingly endless badinage, he would risk an implicitly sexual remark, and he would watch with rising satisfaction as her lips curled in a suggestive smile. If he succeeded at bringing a blush to her grinning cheeks, all the better.

Now, Fenris found that he was forgetting half the time why he shouldn’t sleep with her. He would study his reasons sometimes while sitting alone in his mansion, and the more he mulled them over, the more uncertain he became. 

Had his rationalizing always been no more than flimsy excuses to keep his distance? Or was he really that much of a slave to the desires of his mutilated body that he would discard logic for lust? 

When Fenris was feeling really honest, he recognized another possible reason that he was keeping her an arm’s length away. As the months went by, it was becoming increasingly clear that any liaison he had with Hawke would be more than just sex. 

Hawke was a blasted mage. She befriended the worst kinds of mages. She was irreverent and glib and often completely absurd, and she was always picking on him. 

And Fenris _liked_ her. 

In the five years since he’d left Seheron, there was no one else he’d really come to like. There was no one else he’d really come to… trust.

For some reason that he wasn’t entirely certain of, this was a problem. 

So Fenris sat at the table in Hawke’s huge fancy house playing cards with her and the others. He trailed after her with a long-suffering sigh while she ran errands for her mother. He grudgingly accepted the creeping magical touch of her barriers when they got attacked on the Docks at night, and he watched her lithe body twisting and twirling in the candlelight when she danced with Isabela in the Hanged Man. And all the while, Fenris would tell himself over and over that there were valid reasons that he shouldn’t sleep with Hawke.

 _Remember. You have to remember,_ he told himself. _Getting involved with Hawke is a bad idea._ But as the years went by, he had a harder and harder time remembering why. 

Hawke strolled through his reveries with her jaunty little saunter. Her raucous laugh burst across his mind like ripe berries, and memories of her clever tongue cut through his thoughts. 

And Fenris couldn’t remember why he should stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! [Join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like :3


	6. Juvenile Flirting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fictober 2018 prompt fill for Vythika, one of my first and dearest fanfic friends. The prompt: "Some people call this wisdom."
> 
> This takes place early in Act 2.

Aveline sighed and rubbed her face. “Hawke…”

“What?” Hawke complained. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a gift! It’s nice! I’m sure he’ll see it in the spirit that it was intended.” She nodded pertly, then took a drink from her dented stein.

Fenris shook his head in exasperation as Aveline shot Hawke a chiding look. In a slow, careful voice, Aveline said, “You sent Carver a box of soil.” 

“A box of soil containing seeds,” Hawke corrected. “They’ll grow into an embrium plant, and then he can use the flowers for healing. And it’ll remind him of Father, since embrium was his favourite!” She leaned into Aveline’s shoulder in a wheedling manner. “Come on, Av, admit it. I did good this time. Even Carver can’t interpret a gift like that as an insult.”

Then Varric piped up from the end of the table. “You probably should have sent the soil and the seeds in a pot. You know, for growing the plant? He’ll probably just think you’ve sent him a bunch of random dirt.”

Hawke opened her mouth to protest, then slowly wilted. “Good point,” she admitted. Then she perked up and shrugged. “Well then, it’ll be a test of his ability to problem-solve and put clues together! Nobody wants a stupid Templar, after all.” She winked at Varric and lifted her stein to her lips again. “See, some people call this wisdom.”

“Nobody would call this wisdom,” Fenris drawled. “Most people would, in fact, call this idiocy.”

She lifted her chin and shot him a challenging look. “And yet you all still spend your days following me from Sundermount to Darktown and back, so what does that make all of you?” 

The whole table burst into protest and laughter, and Hawke jumped to her feet. “Time for another round!” she said loudly. “Drink up, everyone! Same thing as before?” She glanced around the table to confirm their orders, then drained her stein and sashayed over to the bar. A few minutes later, she returned to the table with two steins in hand. 

“One for the sexy morning scruff and one for the sexy chest hair…” She slid the steins across the table to Anders and Varric, then returned to the bar and brought two more drinks. “One for the sexy ginger, and one for the sexy… everything,” she purred, handing them to Aveline and Isabela, then she returned once more for Sebastian and Merrill (“one for the sexy blue eyes, and one for the one who’s too damned cute to be sexy”). 

Finally, with the last two drinks in hand, she sat next to Fenris and placed his stein on the table. “And one for... you,” she said quietly.

He met her twinkling bronze eyes. Everything about her expression screamed mischief, but Fenris refused to rise to the bait. “Thank you,” he said politely.

“You’re welcome,” she replied equally politely. 

Fenris lifted his stein to his lips, then paused as the fumes from his drink reached his nose. He balked and peered into the stein, then looked at Hawke. “This is brandy.” 

“Yes,” she said. Her lips were curled in a smirk as she drank from her cup. 

Fenris frowned as she lowered her drink to the table. Then he reached for her stein. “What’s in your cup?”

She jerked the stein away before he could grasp it. “Hands to yourself!” she insisted. “Leave my wine alone.” 

_Wine._ Fenris wilted in exasperation. “You switched our drinks.” 

She cradled his wine in both hands and smiled. “It’s for your own good,” she told him earnestly. “You have to start getting used to drinking swill. You’re down to your last two bottles of the Aggregio.” She lifted the wine to her face and inhaled. “Ahh, Antivan red. Not as good as the stuff you have at home, but it’ll do.” 

Her grin was wide and provocative, and Fenris refused to cede to it. He folded his arms and raised one eyebrow. “How do you know I’m down to the last two bottles?”

She tilted her head coyly. “I sneak into your house through the wine cellar to watch you sleep, of course. What else are friends for?” 

There was a snort of laughter from the end of the table - probably Anders, he enjoyed this kind of puerile humour - but Fenris couldn’t smile. If he smiled, it would mean she’d won. 

He kept a straight face and reached for her stein again. “Give that to me.” 

She twisted away from him. “No.”

“Hawke,” he said sternly. 

She lifted the stein over her head and held out her other hand to hold him back. “I backwashed,” she warned. “My spit’s in here.”

Aveline and Isabela exclaimed in disgust, but the threat wasn’t as off-putting for Fenris as she’d likely intended. A flash of a fantasy flickered through his mind: her lips on his, his tongue tangled with hers - a far more appealing way to taste the contents of her impertinent mouth.

He shunted the thought aside and lunged for the stein. “Give it back,” he demanded.

Then her hand was on his chest. Fenris stopped short at the touch and met her gaze. 

Her amber eyes glittered with mischief. She jerked her chin at the abandoned cup of brandy. “Go on, try something different,” she purred. “You might like it.” 

He swallowed, mouth dry as he gazed into her infuriatingly wicked eyes. Her face was a handspan from his own. Her fingers rested on his chest with barely enough pressure to hold him back, and he wondered if she could feel the sudden thrumming of his heart. 

The tension was too much. The temptation to smile was gone, wiped away by a different and altogether more dangerous temptation, and Fenris expelled it the first way he could think of.

He pinched Hawke’s waist. 

She squealed in surprise and flinched, tucking both her arms defensively in toward her belly, and Fenris plucked his wine from her now-accessible hand. “Benefaris,” he proclaimed, then drained the stein in four long gulps. 

Hawke tutted. “Just don’t come whining to me when you run out of your fancy Tevinter vintage,” she said haughtily, then reached for the cup of brandy.

Fenris pushed it out of her reach. 

Her eyes widened, and she grinned at him. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said gleefully. 

He folded his arms and planted his elbows on the table, firmly between the mage and her brandy. “This is justice, Hawke. There are consequences for depriving a man of his wine,” he drawled. 

A peal of joyful laughter spilled from her lips, and Fenris swatted her away as she tried to reach across him. Then Isabela’s cheerful voice cut through their scuffling. “Oh, would you two just fuck each other already? I could watch.” 

Hawke turned around and pinched the pirate’s arm. “I bet you would, you dirty bitch,” she said, and the two women promptly fell about laughing. Moments later, Isabela was dragging Hawke to her feet, and Fenris watched with a combination of exasperation and amusement as they began dancing to the lively tavern tunes. 

Aveline groaned and rubbed her forehead. “What am I even doing here? I feel like a schoolmistress. One who is bad at her job.” 

Fenris gave her a rueful half-smile. “You are not alone in that feeling,” he assured her. 

She shot him a baleful look. “You’re no better, Fenris. You just goad her on.” 

Fenris opened his mouth to defend himself, but Aveline was already on her feet. “I’m leaving,” she declared. “Please get home safely, everyone. And you two.” She pointed at Anders and Sebastian, who were watching Hawke and Isabela’s antics. “Keep your eyeballs in your heads. You’re making fools of yourselves.” 

Fenris smirked at Sebastian’s blustering protests, but his amusement was cut short by a perky little voice to his left. “I’ve never known anyone who frowned so much when they were happy.” 

Fenris turned and scowled at Merrill. “Excuse me?” 

She propped her chin on her fists and tilted her head. “You like Hawke. But you’re always frowning at her. Why don’t you just tell her that you like her?” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Pray tell what miraculous event occurred that makes you think you can speak to me like this?”

Merrill sat up straight. “Like what?” she asked, wide-eyed and worried.

“As though we are friends and I don’t despise you,” he growled, then stood and went to sit next to Varric instead. 

“Harsh,” Varric murmured, and Fenris shrugged irritably in response. 

Eventually Isabela and Hawke pulled Merrill into their dance, and Fenris and Varric watched them quietly for a while, Fenris sipping Hawke’s brandy while Varric enjoyed his ale. Just when Fenris was feeling pleasantly relaxed, Varric broke the silence.

“Daisy makes a valid point,” he said quietly. “Why haven’t you and Hawke… gotten together? Not that it’s any of my business,” he added hastily as Fenris shot him a glare, “but… look, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you like to think.” 

Fenris scowled and sipped his drink to stall for time. There was an uncomfortable writhing in his belly, part-pleasure at the thought of Hawke’s affection and part-discomfort at the apparent obviousness of his own, and he didn’t want to reply to Varric’s question.

Partly because he didn’t really know the answer. 

Fenris couldn’t deny that he wanted Hawke. He often fondly imagined the shapes her body would make as she arched beneath him on his bed, or on the table in his mansion while he spread her wide. But somewhere in the past few years, his imaginings of her had taken on a certain complexity that he’d not anticipated. 

It wasn’t just sex that he wanted. It was _her_. He’d think about Hawke’s sultry voice whispering more than just dirty words in his ear, and he’d fantasize about sharing more with her than sweat. But the mere idea of turning these thoughts into reality made Fenris feel… itchy. And hunted, somehow. 

Eventually Varric spoke again. “Well, as I said, none of my business. And it is entertaining to watch. In a juvenile, he-pulls-her-hair-because-he-likes-her kind of way.” 

Fenris grunted, then drained the dregs of Hawke’s brandy and rose from the bench. “I will follow Aveline’s example,” he said, then turned toward the door. 

“You’re not going to say goodbye?” Varric said in surprise.

“You’re the storyteller. Make up an excuse for me,” Fenris said, then left the Hanged Man.

As he trudged back to his mansion, he brooded over Varric’s infuriating words. Why did the dwarf need to push and prod? Fenris just wanted to enjoy flirting with a beautiful woman and having her flirt back. It was satisfying and it was safe, and there was nothing wrong with that. 

If only he could convince himself that flirtation was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter that chronologically follows this one is a oneshot called [Always Smiling.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368671) Sorry about this - I was disorganized when I started writing these two... >_<
> 
> [Join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like! Or subscribe to the series if you want updates on these two fools. xoxo


	7. The Right Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble takes place after [Astia Valla Femundis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428185), in which Fenris admits to Hawke that he wants to sleep with her. 
> 
> I incorporated two prompts into this one: "You're so cute when you're grumpy" and "How long did you think we could do this?"

“Yes,” Hawke whispered.

Fenris inhaled leisurely. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, “You can’t go on much longer.” 

“I can,” she breathed. “Just… give me time… oh fuck.” 

A soft clink of coins and a surprised _mrow_ filtered into Fenris’s ears. He cracked open one eye just in time to see the stray cat roll onto its belly on the carpet, shedding the pile of coppers that Hawke had so painstakingly piled on its belly while it was sleeping. 

The cat gave Hawke a deeply affronted look, then darted away up the stairs. Fenris smirked and closed his eyes again, then folded his arms behind his head. “How long did you think we could do this?”

“ _We?_ ” she said archly. “There’s no ‘we’ about it. I made it to thirteen coppers without any help from you, thank you very much.”

“You’re right,” Fenris replied. “I don’t know why I would insert myself into such a foolish affair. This ridiculous excuse for a pastime was entirely your making.” 

“Damn right,” she agreed cheerfully. “Now help me catch the cat before Anders gets here.” 

“No,” Fenris replied. He flexed his toes; the warmth from the fire in Hawke’s study felt nice against his bare feet. 

There was a brief silence, then Hawke tutted loudly. “You unhelpful lazy slob. Remind me why I let you in my house?” 

“I can leave if you’d prefer,” he offered lazily. 

“No no,” Hawke grumbled. “Make yourself comfortable. Lie there like a lump. See if I care.” She flicked his earlobe as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Ouch,” he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as she wandered away. Fenris listened with amusement as she alternately cursed and cajoled the cat, and eventually a peaceful silence fell. 

Then something heavy and soft with four little feet landed on his chest. 

He grunted with surprise, then opened his eyes and glared up at Hawke as the equally offended cat leapt off of his chest and took refuge on Hawke’s desk chair. 

The cheeky mage stared down at him, a smirk on her face and her hands on her hips. Fenris scowled at her for a moment longer, then closed his eyes again. “You’re being particularly obnoxious tonight,” he remarked. “You must be bored.” 

“Quite the contrary,” she said, her voice drawing close as she settled herself on the carpet beside him. “I’m vastly entertained by your crabbiness, as always. You’re so cute when you’re grumpy.” 

He scowled more deeply. “Small children and nugs are considered cute. I am not _cute_.”

She chuckled. Her voice was even closer now, as though she was lounging beside him, and a tingle of warm contentment bloomed beneath his skin at her proximity. 

“Now you’re just fishing for more compliments,” she said. “Fine, you’re a sexy specimen of a man, is that better?” She poked him in the ribs. 

He swatted at her hand, then opened his eyes to look at her sternly. “Don’t.”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow to grin down at him. “Fenris, are you ticklish?”

He frowned at her. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I don’t want - Hawke, don’t you dare-” He snatched her wrist as her mischievous finger made its way toward his ribs again.

“Oh my. I bet you are ticklish!” she crowed. But before she could do anything else, Fenris released her wrist and pinched her waist.

She squawked and twisted away from him as he rolled onto his side to face her. “Hey!”

“You might suspect that I’m ticklish, but I _know_ that you are,” he drawled. “Don’t trifle with me.” He swiftly pinched the other side of her waist.

Hawke squeaked and then burst into laughter. She was so ridiculous, a grown woman lying on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest and her dark hair spilling around her head like a chaotic halo while she laughed with utter abandon. 

She was so damned lovely, and Fenris just stared at her for a moment with a helpless smile stretching across his face. 

“Erm, I can come back later if you’d prefer some privacy…?”

The smile slid off of Fenris’s face at the sound of Anders’s voice. He pushed himself into a sitting position and jerked his chin at Anders in a passable imitation of a greeting. 

Hawke, meanwhile, rolled leisurely onto her side to face them and propped her cheek on her fist. “Hello, Anders. No privacy needed. Or you could join us.” She wiggled her eyebrows salaciously and patted the carpet between herself and Fenris.

“No,” Anders and Fenris said, loudly and in tandem. 

Hawke threw her head back in a throaty laugh, then lay back on the floor again and waved her hand vaguely toward her desk. “Your new furry friend is there. She’ll be heartbroken that you’re taking her away from Fenris, though. I think she likes him.” She tossed a cheeky smile at Fenris, who rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sure she does,” Anders muttered, then hurried over to Hawke’s desk and tenderly lifted the cat. “Come here, sweetheart,” he crooned. “I’ll keep you safe.” He made his way back toward the door with the cat contentedly curled in his arms. “Thank you, Hawke. I’ll take good care of her. See you tomorrow, then?” 

“Yep! See you,” she said with a lazy wave. 

Anders smiled at her and gave Fenris a stiff nod of farewell, and then Fenris and Hawke were alone again. 

She sighed happily, and Fenris slowly settled onto his back as well, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach. He gazed vacantly up at the ceiling in a sort of lazy reverie for a moment. 

Then he snapped out his hand and grabbed Hawke’s wrist as she sneakily tried to poke him again. “Don’t. I will make you sorry,” he threatened. 

She let out a light and sultry little laugh. “Ooh. Punish me, will you? That’s something I’d like to see.”

He released her wrist and snorted softly. “You’re absurd.” 

She sighed happily and crossed her ankles, folding one arm comfortably behind her head. “So I’ve been told. Rynne ‘Absurd’ Hawke, that’s what they call me. I should make it my legal middle name. D’you think the Viscount would sign off on the paperwork?”

“Shut up, Hawke,” Fenris drawled. 

She snickered, and they fell quiet again until the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Toby’s snuffling canine snores from the main room.

Eventually she spoke into the cozy silence. “I’m waiting for your cue. Just so you know.”

His stomach gave a tiny flip of nervous excitement. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips curled in a little smile, and she looked utterly relaxed. 

“I… appreciate your patience,” he said quietly. “As much as I am surprised by it.”

Her smile widened slightly at his dig, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Give me a bit of credit, Fenris. I can be patient when I try _really_ hard.” She chuckled and stretched her arms leisurely, drawing his errant gaze to the subtle shifting lines of her body, then flopped her arms onto the carpet at her sides. “I like to think of this as foreplay.” 

“Hmm,” Fenris murmured pointedly. Hawke grinned broadly at the heated implication in his tone, but she said nothing more, and eventually Fenris closed his eyes as well. But thoughts of Hawke continued to swim behind his eyelids.

Things had remained normal between them since he’d admitted that he wanted to sleep with her, their arguments and flirting continuing with their usual frequency. Fenris was grateful that nothing had changed, but at the same time, he was growing increasingly frustrated by the lack of change.

Frustrated at himself.

Hawke wanted him. He wanted Hawke. Both of them knew it. It should be simple. So why was he hesitating at moving their relationship into something more physical? 

Before he’d told Hawke he wanted her, his fantasies of her had been torrid and uninhibited and _easy_. Now that he’d told her, his sensual imaginings were more heated than before, but somehow more nerve-wracking - probably because they could imminently come to life. But why did the idea of getting naked with Hawke make him feel like he’d be baring something more than just his sullied skin?

He sighed, actively pushing his disquiet aside. There was no rush. Besides, there was something undeniably enjoyable about the rising tension between the two of them. The anticipation, the heightened sense of possibility and his own heightened awareness of her body whenever she was close by: it was… pleasant to feel such happy anticipation for something. He couldn’t remember feeling this kind of eager wanting before. 

Fenris felt _good_. Chasing Hawke in this quiet, subtle way felt fucking good, and feeling good was so novel to him. It was no great hardship to wait for the right time to make his move. 

And yet, this moment now, lying in front of the fire with her…

This moment was pretty damned perfect. Hawke’s study was the one place in Kirkwall where Fenris felt the most at ease. And Hawke was stretched out beside him, firelight flickering over her bare legs and shadows highlighting the curves of her body, and her dark wavy hair spread across the carpet… 

He inhaled slowly and calmly, suddenly conscious of the closeness of her hand resting between them on the carpet - and his own hand on the carpet as well, a mere finger-length from her own. All he had to do was reach for her. Slide his fingertips over her open palm, twine his fingers between hers, feel the softness of her palm against his own… 

Would it be so bad, to make a move now? To hold her hand? To roll closer to her, maybe slide his other hand along the gentle arch of her neck, and then-

“Rynne, love? Can you give me a hand?” 

Fenris jerked his hand back to his stomach at the distant sound of Leandra’s voice. Hawke sighed, then pushed herself into a sitting position. “Coming, Mother,” she called, and she trotted out of the room. 

Fenris regretfully watched her go, then folded his arms behind his head. _So much for the right moment,_ he thought ruefully. But he wasn’t entirely disappointed. 

He’d waited for three years already. He could wait a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk Broody Elf™ with me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you're in the mood!


	8. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for the insanely talented @rhythm-diary on Tumblr, who creates [the most beautiful Fenris/femHawke art.](http://rhythm-diary.tumblr.com/tagged/art) Check out their work!!
> 
> The prompt: "Come here. I'll teach you." 
> 
> This drabble takes place after [Astia Valla Femundis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428185), in which Fenris admits to Hawke that he wants to sleep with her.

With a whisper of metal and a satisfying _thunk,_ Fenris’s knife sank into the Archon’s face.

Fenris stared at the damaged painting with malicious satisfaction. If only this hideous portrait were an actual Tevinter magister. Though if it were, he’d probably get more satisfaction from using his sword than this puny knife…

He lifted another throwing knife from the set. With a deft overhand throw, the blade sank into the centre of the oil painting.

At that moment, Hawke wandered in, her hands in her pockets and a smile on her face. “Ooh, a new hobby. Cleaving your foes into a bloody pulp isn’t enough for you anymore?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Mastery of a new weapon is always a boon,” he said. He threw another knife, pleased when it sank into the center of the vile portrait’s nose.

Hawke plopped herself down on the floor, immediately pulling off her boots as she was wont to do. “I didn’t know you knew how to throw knives,” she said. 

“Isabela taught me,” Fenris replied. “I have done my best to practice when I have the time.” He whipped another blade at the painting, and it slammed directly into the Archon’s right eye.

“Ah, Isabela. Of course,” Hawke said. She leaned back on her palms and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I can’t decide who that must have been more enjoyable for. Did she stand behind you while teaching you?” She adopted a droll imitation of Isabela’s sultry voice. “‘Here, Fenris, let me put my arms around you and show you how to make a man bleed…’” She sighed happily. “Two beautiful people learning a beautiful lesson together. Varric should write a book about it.” 

Her jests would have seemed genuine to anyone else, but Fenris knew of Hawke’s strange little insecurity when it came to her own best friend. She might have been drunk when she’d revealed her envy of Isabela and Fenris’s flirting years ago, but Fenris had never forgotten it.

He shot her a chiding little smirk. “Hawke, how is that you are jealous of Isabela? You’re the one who used to sleep with her.” 

“Why else do you think I’m jealous?” Hawke retorted. “I know firsthand what Bels is capable of. She does this thing with her tongue, like this rolling thing, and it’s just…” She trailed off, her smirk wry and expectant, and Fenris folded his arms.

“Yes?” he drawled. “Please, continue. You’ve got my attention.” He was only half-joking. His lewd and mindless cock was stirring with interest - not at the thought of Hawke and Isabela together, which is what she likely expected, but rather at the fond fantasy of his own tongue rolling against certain sensitive parts of Hawke’s lithe body…

She grinned slowly at him. “I bet I do,” she purred. “But I don’t kiss and tell.” 

“You just were,” he said flatly.

She dissolved into laughter. “Okay, fine, I do, but only because Isabela did first! But I’m not saying any more. I don’t want to give you any more ideas about Kirkwall’s sexiest pirate. I just barely caught your eye, I’m not about to cut myself off at the knees.” 

She tossed him a rueful smile as she pushed herself to her bare feet, then strolled over to the painting. Fenris frowned at her in confusion as she began pulling the plethora of blades from the canvas. _Just barely…?_ Why would she think his interest was so hard-won? Or so fickle, for that matter? 

She turned away from the damaged painting with the throwing knives in her hands, and Fenris accepted them with a silent nod of thanks. Hawke sat on the floor again with her legs stretched out. “Well? Impress me,” she purred.

“I’m not here to put on a show for you,” he grumbled.

“Fenris, everything you do is like putting on a show for me,” she retorted. “You walking… You picking up a bottle… You swinging your sword into someone’s face… oof, someone get me a glass of cold water.” She fanned herself playfully, then winked at him. 

He shook his head despairingly, but a traitorous little smirk pulled at his lips. “You are an idiot,” he informed her.

“Only for you, Fenris. Only for you,” she said, just as she always did, and her reliable response made his smile stretch wider. 

He threw a few blades at the painting, and Hawke hummed to herself as she watched him, her toes bobbing in time to whatever song was stuck in her head. Then Fenris picked up another blade, but instead of throwing it, he ran his thumb idly across its narrow handle and eyed her speculatively.

She stopped humming as she met his gaze. “What is it?”

He studied her for a moment more, then waved his hand for her to approach. “Come here. I’ll teach you.”

Her eyes widened, and a huge smile bloomed across her face. “Really?” She scrambled to her feet.

“Yes,” he said. “You should learn another method of attack. Blades are more reliable than your blasted lightning and firebolts. You mages never seem to anticipate physical attacks.” 

Hawke frowned and opened her mouth to retort. Fenris waited, the back of his neck already prickling in anticipation of an argument, but she hesitated.

Finally she shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. I mean, I’m great at lightning bolts,” she winked at him again and he pursed his lips with displeasure, “but as a famously broody handsome elf once said, ‘mastery of a new weapon is always a boon.’”

She deepened her voice in a mocking impression of him, and he smirked at the terrible imitation. She might be teasing him, but she’d clearly heard what he’d said. “I will take that as a ‘yes’?” he said. 

She nodded happily. “Yes. Teach me something new. I’m ready.” 

He handed her a blade, then demonstrated with the knife in his own hand. “There are many ways to throw. I will show you one that’s quite powerful with little effort on your part.” He placed the base of the knife against the meat of his thumb and positioned his index finger along the narrow edge. “You will throw it from the side with a flick of this finger, like this.” He launched the knife at the painting, and it sunk into place with a solid _thud_. 

“Oh, so it’s like skipping stones!” Hawke said. 

Fenris frowned. “What?”

“You know, skipping stones on a pond like you do when you’re a kid. Didn’t you…?” She trailed off, her face falling slightly as she realized what she’d said. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a tiny voice. 

He shook his head in a silent dismissal, then took a step back and gestured at the painting. “Go on. Try your hand.”

She settled herself into a ready stance, then threw the blade. 

It spun through the air - a sure sign she’d done it wrong - then bounced harmlessly off of the canvas.

Fenris shrugged. “Try again.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Hmm, I like it when you’re bossy. Any chance of that ice water anytime soon?”

He sighed tiredly. “Hawke…”

She laughed and turned back to face the painting, and Fenris thoughtfully watched her dismal attempts. As often as he argued with Hawke, one of the things he most appreciated about her was that she always heard him. She’d debate with him and she’d make her jokes, and they’d disagree most of the time, but at least he knew she was listening. As fond as Fenris was of Isabela, she always turned tail and ran at the first sign of a controversy. He might never get angry at the buxom pirate, but he’d also never really had a meaningful conversation with her.

Hawke kept on trying with the knives, her technique growing more erratic until she finally stopped and leaned her head back with an exasperated groan. “Fenris…”

He came out of his reverie and held out his hand. “Here.”

She tried to hand him the knife, but he shook his head. “No. Give me your hand.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, and Fenris supposed he couldn’t blame her. He almost never initiated physical contact, after all. 

She tentatively placed her hand in his, and Fenris carefully stepped closer until he was standing behind her. Gingerly he placed his unoccupied left hand on her hip and adjusted her posture, then molded his right palm around the back of her knuckles to adjust her grip. “From the side, like this,” he told her quietly. “Keep your hip rotated. It will help your balance.”

She was silent as he adjusted her body. When he had her positioned correctly, he paused, then realized that he was holding his breath. 

Hawke’s knuckles were warm against his bare fingers. The slender curve of her hip fit perfectly into his palm. Her back brushed against his chest from their proximity, and there was a jittery little kick beneath his ribs, thrumming hotly through his chest and down into his belly. 

Hawke argued with him and teased him constantly. She wielded magic instead of metal weapons, and her knife technique was truly abysmal. And she was the most appealing woman he’d ever known.

On impulse, Fenris leaned closer to her. “You have nothing to be jealous of,” he murmured in her ear. 

He heard the hitch in her breath as she inhaled, and he watched with a swelling of fondness as her cheeks grew pink. “Shut up, you flatterer,” she muttered. 

Fenris smiled. Then slowly - and quite reluctantly - he stepped away from her. “Try again now.”

She did, and the blade bounced harmlessly off the painting, but Fenris wasn’t bothered. He sat in her former spot on the floor as she practiced, her face growing more serious and focused with every failed throw. 

A considerable time later, the point of a knife sank into the painting, and she whooped and punched her fist in the air. “Finally!” she exclaimed. “Fuck’s sake, I was starting to think I’d be here all night.” She hurried over to his side and grabbed her boots. 

Fenris sat up from his lounging position as she dragged the boots onto her feet. “Are you leaving?” he asked. He was frankly surprised; it was unlike her to leave his house so quickly. 

“Yes, I was supposed to meet Sebastian at the Chantry over an hour ago,” she said, then burst out laughing. “He’s going to murder me. And then he’ll probably wail and gnash his teeth and beg my bleeding body for forgiveness. You know how he is.”

Fenris smirked. She was such a mess. “If you don’t show up tomorrow morning, then I’ll know what happened,” he said. 

She swept her hair back from her face and grinned at him. “Exactly. Just make sure I’m buried on Sundermount Peak, all right? I’ve always wanted to be resurrected as a cursed wraith. Merrill can bring me flowers and offerings.”

Fenris rolled his eyes in disgust, and Hawke laughed merrily. She pinched his chin, then ran for the door. “Bye!” she shouted.

“Shut the door behind you,” he yelled, and he smirked as the door closed with a hearty slam. 

Fenris slowly pushed himself to his feet, then resumed his practice with the knives. As he hit the canvas with blade after perfectly-cast blade, he couldn’t help but think of Hawke’s determined face as she tried to do the same.

_Completely abysmal,_ he thought. She really was bad at this. 

Maybe she’d be interested in another lesson sometime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used [this video about knife throwing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SThz_pIUggA&t=225s) for research purposes. 
> 
> And yep, I headcanon my Hawke having a casual thing with Isabela for a while before Hawke's feelings for Fenris got more serious. I might do a smutty Hawke/Bela oneshot at some point, who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants to stop by! xo


	9. Swords and Shields

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for my dear friend @mrscullensrutherford on Tumblr! The prompt: "Love at first sight? What bullshit."
> 
> This drabble takes place after [Astia Valla Femundis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428185), in which Fenris admits to Hawke that he wants to sleep with her. 
> 
> Some nice unresolved sexual tension here, and reference to a very dear book series of Varric's that comes up in DA:I.

“Varric, I don’t approve of this idea,” Aveline said sternly. 

The wily storyteller blinked innocently. “Why not? You of all people should appreciate it.” He gestured dramatically with his hands. “A Knight-Captain and a Guardsman. Forbidden love, political intrigue, and spine-tingling romance. It’ll be a huge success.” He lowered his hands and smiled at Aveline in a wheedling manner. “And it’ll only be very loosely based on true events. And I’ll be changing the whole courting thing a bit.” He frowned thoughtfully. “A lot, actually.”

“You’ll have to completely make that part up from scratch, Varric,” Isabela piped up cheerfully. “Aveline, you’re many things, but a flirtatious vixen you are _not_.” She elbowed Hawke playfully.

Aveline scowled, a rosy flush creeping over her freckled cheeks. “Shut up, you tart,” she snapped, then turned back to Varric authoritatively. “Varric, no. You absolutely cannot borrow from mine and Donnic’s life. It’s private! What if someone recognizes - I mean-” She coughed, obviously flustered, then took an apple chip from the bowl on the floor and stuffed it in her mouth. “Besides, it will be boring,” she mumbled through her full mouth. “Nobody will read it.”

The Knight-Captain’s face was absolutely flaming red by this time. Fenris smirked and wrapped his arms loosely around his knees as he listened to their exchange. What had started out as Aveline’s very serious training demonstration with Toby had swiftly devolved into a gossip-and-snacks session, and now they were all seated on the floor in the front of the hearth in Hawke’s main room.

Varric looked at Aveline disbelievingly. “You really think nobody would read a story about love at first sight between a Knight-Captain and a Guardsman?”

Merrill clasped her hands together and blinked her big green eyes. “It sounds lovely, Varric,” she chirped. “I would read it.”

Then Hawke groaned loudly. “No way!” she expostulated. “Love at first sight? What bullshit! Don’t write that insipid crap. It puts crazy ideas in people’s heads. Do a sequel to _Siege Harder_ instead! Now _that_ I’d read in a heartbeat.”

Varric folded his arms and grinned at her. “Hawke, I’m surprised. I thought you’d enjoy that romantic shit.”

“No,” she said dismissively. “Love at first sight is another way of saying ‘I’m horny as a nug in heat and I can’t admit it.’” Sebastian choked on his water, and Isabela snorted a laugh, but Hawke wasn’t finished. “Besides, think about how drastically your first impressions can change. Look at Fenris!” 

Fenris raised one eyebrow as Hawke gestured in his direction. “He hated me at first. Now he can’t get enough of me,” she said smugly.

Fenris shot the irreverent mage a sardonic look. “I am less than fond of you when you put me on the spot.”

“Oh come on, Fenris, it’s okay to admit that I won you over with my scintillating wit and oozing charm,” Hawke said. “Lots of people don’t like me when they first meet me! Maker only knows why, though. I’m fantastic.”

There was a collective groan from the group. Isabela shoved her until she fell over on the carpet, and Anders threw one of Toby’s chew-toys at Hawke’s head, and Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. 

Then Aveline piped up helpfully. “I didn’t like you very much at first, Hawke.” 

Hawked gestured at Aveline. “See? And now Aveline adores me! She’s like my second mum!” Then she grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, Aveline.”

Aveline smiled proudly. “That’s quite all right.” The guard-captain selected another dried apple chip from the mostly-empty snack tray.

Hawke turned toward Fenris again, her copper eyes sparkling with what was certain to be another round of teasing digs. He hastily pushed himself to his feet. “I will fetch more snacks.” 

Hawke frowned as he lifted the snack tray from the floor. “What? You’re a guest in my home! You shouldn’t fetch snacks!” She rose to her feet as well. “I’ll help you.” 

Fenris shot her a chiding look as she took the tray from his hands. “Being a guest in your home didn’t stop you from demanding that I find your missing glove for you last week,” he said flatly.

“And you refused to do it,” Hawke retorted. “See? Guest privileges.”

Isabela yawned loudly and stretched out on the carpet. “If you two are leaving to go fuck in the kitchen, you can just tell us. No need for the clever smokescreen.” She smiled and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke shot her a reproving look. “Thanks, Bels,” she said, and Isabela snickered as Hawke made a rude hand gesture in her direction. 

Fenris, meanwhile, left their conversation behind and headed toward the kitchen. A moment later, Hawke caught up with him. “So, what _did_ you think of me when we first met?”

Of course this was why she’d wanted to accompany him: to needle him relentlessly. “I was impressed at how readily you handed death to my enemies,” Fenris said matter-of-factly.

Hawke gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Wow. That’s the oddest compliment I’ve ever gotten. But okay, I’ll take it. What else?”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked at her. “Why are you seeking so shamelessly to be flattered?” 

“I’m not! I’m just curious!” she protested. 

He continued to stare at her, and finally she grinned sheepishly. “Okay, fine, maybe I’m looking for compliments. Can you really blame a girl?” She set the snack tray down on the kitchen counter, then leaned back against it and tilted her head coyly. “I _am_ curious, though. You can be hard to read. What did you think of me, really?”

He sighed. “You are a mage. I was wary,” he said bluntly. But if he was being honest, he hadn’t been as wary of her as he might have been. From his very first time fighting by Hawke’s side, Fenris had known she was different. In Fenris’s experience, mages defined themselves by their magic: they considered it their most valuable trait, and they used it shamelessly to influence and coerce and claw their way to power. 

For Hawke, however, magic was just something she happened to have at her disposal, rather than a sign of status to be lorded over everyone’s head. She’d always been special, even then. 

Oblivious to the warmth of his thoughts, Hawke shrugged and rested her elbows back against the counter. “Fair enough. And now?” 

He gave her an exasperated look. “You really are delving, Hawke.” 

“I know,” she said cheerfully. “So?”

He pursed his lips. “And now... you annoy me most days.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she agreed. “What else?”

He folded his arms. “You are far too lenient with blood mages. I hate that.” 

She sighed. “Well, this is less fun than I thought it would be.”

He stepped closer to her. Her eyes darted to his face, then widened as he took yet another step closer. “You are… alluring,” he murmured. 

A wicked little smile lifted her slowly pinkening cheeks. “Now we’re talking,” she said with relish. “What else?” 

Fenris stepped even closer and very deliberately placed his hand on the counter beside her. She was penned between the kitchen counter and his body now, a bare handspan of space between them, and he smiled at the soft little hitching of her breath through her parted lips. 

He slowly slid his gaze from her face to the slender scarlet scarf around her neck. “You look very appealing in red,” he growled. “But I think you will look even more appealing in nothing at all.” He was being reckless and he knew it; he wanted to take things slow with Hawke, make sure he was really ready before falling into her bed, and the cautious part of his mind was warning him against this little game.

But Hawke had started it. And Fenris was determined to win this time. 

“Damn,” she said faintly, and Fenris noticed the subtle arching of her spine with an almost vindictive satisfaction. “What else?” 

“And… I am not saying anything more,” he murmured.

She exhaled shakily. “Why not?” she complained.

He glanced toward the door. “Because of the gossip-mongers standing right there,” he said loudly. 

Just behind the doorframe, there was a startled squeak from Merrill and a raucous cackle from Isabela. Then Aveline’s stern voice floated over from the main room. “I told you two not to listen in! Leave them alone!”

Hawke slumped back against the counter. “Piss right off, you nosy bitches!” she yelled, then let out a rueful laugh as Fenris stepped away from her. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she muttered, then bustled haphazardly around the kitchen pulling out snacks and putting them on the counter. 

Fenris calmly refilled the bowls in a careful pretense that he wasn’t as riled up as she was. He picked up the tray and returned to the main room, leaving Hawke alone in the kitchen. 

Isabela grinned wickedly at him as he sat beside her on the carpet, and he ignored her. “What is the verdict?” he asked Varric. “Are you writing the romance novel or not?”

“Yes!” Merrill and Anders said. 

“No!” Aveline blurted.

“Yes, as long as there’s sex,” Isabela said with relish, while Sebastian shook his head in disapproval.

Varric grinned at Fenris. “The jury’s out. I’ll put it on the back burner for now.”

Aveline sighed in relief. “Thank you, Varric. I hope you keep it that way.”

Then Hawke wandered back into the room, and Fenris forced himself not to laugh as she deliberately walked past him and sat beside Varric instead. “What did I miss?” she asked vaguely. 

Varric smiled at her. “Your wish for a _Siege Harder_ sequel might be granted. But if I do write the romance serial, what should I call it?”

“Umm…what about…” She trailed off and scratched the back of her head, still looking distinctly flustered, and Fenris studied her with a hot rush of satisfaction. He usually came out worse for wear in their teasing back-and-forths, but it was quite clear from her pinkened cheeks that he’d deflected her sexually-charged sally extremely effectively this time. 

As though she could sense his gaze on her face, she shot him a dirty look, and Fenris couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He turned to Varric. “I know what you should call it,” he said. “ _Swords and Shields._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, _Swords and Shields _is totally based on Aveline and Donnic, right?? A female Knight-Captain who was falsely accused, and a Guardsman?? And the very Aveline-looking warrior on the cover of the book?? I AM CONVINCED. Check out[the codex entry](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Swords_%26_Shields) and tell me what you think.__
> 
> __The chapter that chronologically follows this one is a separate oneshot,[Baby Come Back And Fight With Me.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523588) Sorry about the confusion, I was disorganized when I started writing this ship XD_ _
> 
> __I am[Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to discuss! XD_ _


	10. Vishante Kaffas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-prompt: "You know, I should have seen this coming." Incorporates canon dialogue between Anders, Fenris, and Isabela.
> 
> This takes place after [Baby Come Back And Fight With Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523588) (i.e. the breakup scene in Act 2).

“You know, I should have seen this coming,” Isabela said.

Fenris slowly peeled the shell from a roasted peanut. He wasn’t really hungry, but he popped it in his mouth anyway. “To what are you referring?” he asked.

“You and Hawke, of course,” she said. 

Fenris didn’t reply. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Isabela was bringing this up; she had no qualms about invading anyone’s privacy. 

Sure enough, she continued full speed ahead on her train of thought. “The build-up was too good,” she said, as though discussing characters in a stage play. “There was almost _too_ much tension, you know? Of course the main event couldn’t live up to the expectations.” She studied him sympathetically. “It’s too bad, though. I know Hawke is good. And you…” She looked him over from head to toe. “I had high hopes for you. I was hoping to get some juicy stories from our girl about you.” She twisted her lips ruefully. “Ah well. I guess you can never tell.” 

Fenris scowled at her. “It’s not… that is not the… It wasn’t that,” he said bluntly. 

The nosy pirate raised her eyebrows. “If the sex was good, what the hell’s the problem?” 

Fenris hunched his shoulders defensively. ”It didn’t work out,” he said, parroting the words that Hawke had given their group over the past couple of days when the inevitable questions came. 

Isabela pursed her lips and glanced pointedly at his wrist. “And yet you’re wearing her scarf.” 

He hastily moved his hand off the table. “I don’t want to talk about this with you,” he muttered. 

She shrugged. “All right, fine. It’s not like I’m saying you should get married or anything.” She wrinkled her nose at the idea, then sipped her drink. “But listen, Fenris, if there’s anyone who needs to get laid on the regular, it’s you.” She eyed him frankly. “You should consider giving it another chance with Hawke. She’ll make it worth your while.” She winked at him and took another sip from her stein.

He pursed his lips and began idly peeling another peanut. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how Isabela knew _he_ had been the one to break things off, but he didn’t really want to hear the answer. 

“What, no smoldering comeback?” Isabela rested her chin on her fists and eyed him sadly. “Well, that’s very boring.” 

He rubbed his forehead. “I’m tired,” he finally offered. “I did not sleep well.” He’d had nightmares, and he hadn’t quite been able to settle from them. Fenris was no stranger to restless dreams; usually they revolved around Seheron, blurred and vivid images of bodies lying broken at his feet, all of them wreathed in blood and boiling lyrium. But last night he’d dreamt of something different: Hawke’s body, broken and bloodless on the ground. The image had been disturbing enough to stop him from sleeping soundly for the rest of the night.

Thankfully, Isabela’s sultry voice interrupted his grim reverie. “You know what helps with insomnia?” she drawled.

Fenris shot her a sardonic glance; he already knew where this was going. “I can’t imagine,” he said flatly.

“Really, really good sex,” Isabela said, with much relish. “I suggest you get some.” 

“Are you offering?” Fenris said, with a very half-hearted smirk.

She snorted. “Not anymore. I’m not touching this whole situation with a ten-foot pole.” She waved her hand vaguely at him. “Too many… feelings.” She wrinkled her nose again. 

He shrugged and returned to toying listlessly with the bowl of nuts. “Fair enough.” It wasn’t like he’d have taken her up on the offer, anyway. The only woman he really wanted…

 _No,_ he reminded himself firmly. Ending his romantic liaison with Hawke had been the right thing to do. It was better all around if he kept to himself.

He continued to pick in silence at the bowl of peanuts until Isabela sighed loudly. “You are a completely hopeless sad sack, you know that?” 

He scowled, annoyed by her incessant prodding, and was about to demand that she leave him alone when the tavern door opened with a bang. 

“Bels!” Hawke called as she stepped into the Hanged Man. “Get your ass over here, you gorgeous tart. We’re running-” She stopped as she realized Fenris was there as well. “Oh, good, you’re here too,” she said. “We were about to go and fetch you next.” 

Her voice was light and friendly, and completely different from the bold flirtatious tone that he’d grown so fond of. He offered a polite nod as he and Isabela stood from the table, then wilted slightly as he realized who the ‘we’ entailed. 

Anders poked his head around Hawke’s shoulder and glanced into the pub. “Ready to go?” he said cheerfully. 

Anders was the only one who still didn’t know what had transpired between Fenris and Hawke, and a feeble writhing of dread began to stir in Fenris’s stomach at the thought of spending the day with him. 

They all stepped out into the feeble sunshine, and Isabela stretched her arms leisurely. “All right, sweet thing, where are we off to today? Doing something fun, I hope?” 

“Nothing too exciting, unfortunately,” Hawke said, and jerked her thumb at Anders. “The pretty one wants to help some apostates get out of the city, so we’re following his lead for now.” 

Fenris clenched his jaw. First Anders, and now helping apostates to escape the Templars? “I should go,” he said bluntly to Hawke. “You do not want me along for this.” It was difficult enough for him to retain some semblance of normality in her presence. He wasn’t sure he would be able to restrain his temper in the presence of apostates, and he was loathe to hurt her more than he’d already done. 

To his dismay, Hawke’s cheerful expression began to fade. But before she could reply, Anders snorted and folded his arms. “You are so selfish,” he said severely. “We all follow Hawke around without complaint while she does whatever you want, and now when there’s one thing you don’t want to do-” 

“I was not speaking to you,” Fenris interrupted. 

“You and I are both advocating for people’s freedoms!” Anders snapped. “How can you be so pig-headed as to not see that?”

“It is not the same,” Fenris retorted. “You want to argue that apostates are equivalent to slaves? Maleficar have chosen their fates. They chose to become a menace that requires putting down. Slaves do not choose to become slaves.” He jabbed an emphatic finger in Anders’s direction. “Do not speak to me of freedom when _you_ walk through this city with a ticking bomb wrapped around your soul!”

Anders rubbed his forehead in exasperation, then turned to Hawke. “I know it’s not my place to criticize, but are you sure you want him?” Anders jerked his head at Fenris as though Fenris wasn’t even there. “He seems less a man to me than a wild dog.”

Fenris sucked in an enraged breath and took a step toward him, and Isabela sighed loudly. “Oh for fuck’s bloody sake,” she said. 

Hawke deftly inserted herself between the two men, placing one placating hand on Fenris’s chest as she raised her eyebrows at Anders. “You don’t know him,” she said firmly. 

“I know as much as I’m ever likely to,” Anders retorted. 

“That’s right, _mage_ ,” Fenris snarled. Anders was as bad as any Tevinter magister Fenris had ever met. He adopted the facade of a helpful healer with his clinic, when all he really wanted was to dominate. The angry spirit that pulsed behind Anders’s eyes was obvious proof of that. Fenris had no respect for Anders, and he didn’t give a fuck if Anders felt the same. 

Anders continued to blather at Hawke, fixedly ignoring Fenris in the process. “He has let one bad experience colour his whole world! Surely you want someone more open-minded.”

“Like _you,_ you mean?” Fenris snapped, then laughed nastily. “A mage _and_ a hypocrite! What company you keep,” he snarled at Hawke. 

He instantly regretted the cruelty of his tone when she flinched. Eyes on the ground, she exhaled loudly, then lifted her chin and smiled brightly at them both. “Boys, boys, let’s not fight over me, all right?” she purred. “I know I’m the most gorgeous woman in Kirkwall, present company excepted…” She winked at Isabela, who blew her a kiss in return, “...but let’s get on with our day, shall we? We’ve got a lot to do today before I go home and drown myself in a bathtub filled with brandy.” 

“Hear hear,” Isabela interjected. “That’s a plan I can get behind.” She pushed Fenris aside and hooked her arm through Hawke’s, then tossed Anders a quick glance over her shoulder. “Come on then, you blond idiot. Let’s get on with it.”

Anders glared at Fenris for a second longer, then shook his head in disgust and headed toward Lowtown’s market. Fenris reluctantly followed suit, silenced by the ugly combination of rage and guilt that roiled in his belly. Hawke and Isabela trailed behind them, whispering and snickering together arm-in-arm, and Fenris was thankful for Isabela’s light-hearted presence. He was being horrible and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop. His rage and his resentment felt closer than usual, more damaging than the lyrium under his skin, and it was difficult to hold them in check.

And of course, Anders was no help. Somehow Fenris found himself walking beside the misbegotten mage, and Anders simply would not let things lie.

“I can’t imagine what Hawke sees in you,” he said scathingly. 

Fenris took a deep and steadying breath. There was one thing he could do for Hawke - one small burden he could take. He told Anders the truth. “It is done. Leave it be,” he growled.

Anders looked at him in surprise, his eyes darting curiously from Fenris’s bescarved wrist to his face. “Oh,” he said blankly, then recovered his smug aplomb with an almost offensive speed. “Well, good,” he said. “I always knew she had some sense hidden away under all those pranks.” 

“Do not make light of this,” Fenris said quietly. “Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Then he snapped his mouth shut and ran an agitated hand through his hair. _Venhedis._ Hawke had been keeping neutral about who-had-done-what when telling the others. Fenris hadn’t meant to say… 

Unfortunately, Anders didn’t miss the admission. The ex-Grey Warden stopped in his tracks and stared at Fenris incredulously. “You left her? _You_ left? You,” he said, his voice absolutely slathered in disbelief. 

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Fenris hissed. He glanced at Hawke, and his stomach dropped at the stricken look on her face.

Then Isabela interrupted loudly. “Oh, would the two of you get over yourselves? I slept with her too. Why isn’t anyone yelling at _me?_ ” 

Hawke burst out a slightly hysterical-sounding little laugh, and thankfully, at long last, Anders turned his attention away from Fenris to grin at Isabela instead. “Isabela, you sleep with everyone,” he said. “The entire population of Kirkwall should be yelling at you by all rights.” 

Isabela released Hawke’s arm and sashayed over to Anders’s side. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” she purred. “I haven’t slept with _you._ ”

“Ah, that’s right,” Anders drawled. “And are you looking to rectify that?”

Isabela eyed him lasciviously, then abruptly dropped the sex-kitten act and snorted dismissively. “Not bloody likely,” she said. 

Fenris couldn’t help it. Despite himself, he laughed. 

Isabela smirked at him. “You shouldn’t laugh. I’ll never sleep with you, either.” She strolled back over to Hawke, then playfully tapped her on the nose. “Only this one can brag about the long, hot, steamy nights we spent together…” 

Hawke grinned and wrapped her arm around Isabela’s waist. “Don’t forget the days. The days were even steamier.” 

They laughed dirtily, and finally the group continued on their way, Hawke and Isabela poking lewd insults at Anders while he joked with them in return. Fenris lagged behind, watching the women’s banter with a faint sense of wistfulness. He was violently grateful to Isabela for dispelling the ugly row, but he couldn’t help but feel envious of the erstwhile captain’s easy hands as they flicked flirtatiously at Hawke’s hair and slapped Hawke playfully on the ass.

There was no point feeling envious, though. He’d made the decision to end things with Hawke, and it was the right one to make. 

He surreptitiously watched the swaying stroll of Hawke’s hips. He thought of the way she’d defended him against Anders’ insults, despite what he’d done to her. And he thought of his dreams: lifeless bodies lying at his feet, wreathed in blood and boiling lyrium, and Hawke, pale and lifeless like a broken doll.

Breaking things off with her had certainly been the right thing to do. But with a pang of despair, Fenris realized that maybe it wasn’t enough. 

*******************

Later that night, Fenris knocked on Hawke’s door. 

Bodahn led him inside as cheerfully as ever and went to fetch Hawke. A minute later, she drifted out of her bedroom. “Fenris,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect-” 

“I am leaving Kirkwall,” he blurted. 

Her eyes widened, and she hurried down the stairs. “What? Why?”

He’d been thinking about this during this whole excruciating day. He and Hawke had spent the rest of the day being painfully polite to each other, and thus they had barely spoken. He’d watched with wistful envy as she flirted playfully with Isabela and Anders, and he’d bitten his tongue about the whole apostate-rescuing situation until he’d given himself a headache, and it had been… horrible. Unnatural. He couldn’t imagine that it had been any easier for Hawke. 

He didn’t _want_ to go. He didn’t want to leave her side. Even if they couldn’t be together, she was the only good thing he’d had in his life for as long as he could remember. But he couldn’t stand another day like today, and the idea of putting her through more of the same… 

“I am doing you no favours by being here,” he said in a rush. If he said it quickly, he wouldn’t be able to cede to the temptation of taking it back. “You say you wish for us to remain friends, but I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “It… you would be better off without me here.”

She stared at him, arms folded, her eyebrows creasing slowly into a frown. She opened her mouth, then stopped and turned her back on him. Fenris waited in painful silence until she turned around to face him again. 

Her response was not what he expected. “If you leave, where will you go?” she asked.

He swallowed. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure. “That is not your concern,” he said. 

She gave a short bark of laughter. “I’m sorry, have you met me? Apparently _everything_ is my concern. Just ask, oh, everyone in this damned city,” she said, then waved at the messy pile of letters on her writing desk. She folded her arms again and fixed him with a pointed stare. “But the concerns of my _friends_ are actually important. Where would you go? To Qarinus to find Varania?”

He frowned. He still didn’t know what he was going to do with Hadriana’s information. It felt like an unfamiliar weapon, or a cure for a disease that he didn’t understand, and Fenris didn’t feel comfortable about how to use it yet. 

He could feel his shoulders tensing, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I do not want to talk about that,” he said brusquely. 

She covered her face briefly with her hands, then shook her head and lifted her face from her hands. “Fenris, don’t leave on my account, all right?” she said. She straightened up and planted one hand on her hip. “We can go back to the way things were. I might actually explode if I have to stop flirting with you. And I’m _not_ going to fall apart into a blubbering mess if you yell at me about blood magic and mages and so on. In fact, I might rain firebombs on myself if we have to keep on tip-toeing around each other like this.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. This was exactly what he’d feared: that she’d reel him back in with her flirting and her sense of humour and her sunny naiveté. “Hawke…”

“I’m not a delicate flower, you know,” she interrupted cheerfully. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’m more like one of those felandaris brambles. All cool and twisted and spiky…” 

A shining memory of her tattoo flashed across his mind: the twisting lines and spikes that spanned her left shoulder blade and the side of her ribs, the sharp black lines contrasting with the softness of her bare golden skin…

He ruthlessly shunted the thought away. Her eyes were sparkling with mischief as she waited for his answer, and Fenris scrambled for a halfway-appropriate response. “That sounds like me as well,” he said. 

She smiled and punched him in the arm. “Ah, a rare thing we have in common! See, we have to stay friends. We can do this, right?”

He rubbed the back of his head. It wouldn’t be as easy as she made it seem, and he knew it. But against his better judgment, he found himself agreeing. “I… yes. All right.” 

“Good,” she said. “So you’ll go back to yelling at me and flirting with me like normal, then?” Her question was brisk and matter-of-fact, and it made it easier for him to reply. 

“I suppose so, yes,” he agreed.

“Wonderful!” she said. “Because I’ve got a really good prank lined up involving Cullen and Anders and a fake phylactery-”

“No,” he said sternly, and Hawke burst into laughter. “Maker’s balls, I missed this,” she said happily. “You can use that forbidding tone with me anytime.” 

He smirked and shook his head ruefully, then headed for her front door. “Goodnight, Hawke,” he said flatly, and took one step out of her house. 

But she stopped him with a gentle grip on his wrist, and he turned back to look at her. 

“This sucks, and it’s awkward right now, but by this time next week it won’t be,” she said firmly. “It’ll be fine. I promise.” 

He gazed into her earnest amber eyes, and a dull ache bloomed behind his sternum. He was the one who had hurt her. He was the one who had broken what they had, and yet she was the one reassuring _him_. 

All the more proof that he wasn’t fit to be with her, or with anyone. 

He didn’t really believe that things would be fine, but he didn’t have the heart to contradict her now. “I will take your word for it,” he said softly. 

She smiled slowly at him, then released his wrist. “Goodnight, Fenris.”

He shot her a small, half-hearted smile before turning away and trudging off to his mansion. Hawke always tried to see the best in the ugliest situations. It was one of her traits that Fenris found both aggravating and endearing, and it usually worked in her favour. But Fenris wasn’t convinced that optimism alone would be enough to bandage this wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst train... :( 
> 
> Come hang with me [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like!


	11. Losing My Religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Fenris and Sebastian's banter, which can be seen in full [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CscNHx5q-Lc&t=6s)
> 
> This takes place after [Baby Come Back And Fight With Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523588) (i.e. the breakup scene in Act 2).

“So,” Hawke said. She handed Fenris a glass of wine and plopped down beside him in front of the fireplace. “Sebastian has been leaning on you pretty hard lately, hasn’t he?”

“What do you mean?” Fenris asked. 

“He seems to have made it his goal of the year to convert you to Andrastianism,” Hawke said. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Andrastianism? Is that a word? Andrastianity, maybe? Or is it just ‘the grand and glorious faith of Andraste’?” She smirked at Fenris. “Remind me to ask him next time he comes out with us. His head will probably explode when he realizes that I don’t know.” 

Fenris watched as she swirled the brandy in her glass before taking a sip. “He is certainly very… focused,” he said carefully. 

Hawke snickered. “That’s one way to put it. ‘Stubbornly determined’ is another. I don’t see why he won’t just leave you alone. Not everyone needs to believe in some fancy all-seeing bogeyman to get themselves out of bed in the morning.” 

When Fenris didn’t reply, the smile slowly faded from Hawke’s pretty face. “Oh,” she said blankly. Then her cheeks started turning pink. “Are you actually…? I assumed…” 

Fenris idly stroked the stem of his wineglass. “I may have been considering what Sebastian has said,” Fenris muttered.

“Oh, shit,” Hawke said. “I didn’t think… Well, um…” She trailed off, then gulped from her tumbler of brandy before letting out a nervous little laugh. “Maker’s balls, I’m surprised I can still drink around the foot I’ve gotten wedged into my mouth here.” 

Fenris offered a tiny smirk at her awkward version of an apology, but he didn’t answer. When Sebastian had first started prodding him about this topic, he’d felt like he was being targeted, exactly as Hawke suggested; it was as though Sebastian was trying to meet some kind of quota by bringing the poor lost elf into the Chantry. But to Fenris’s own surprise, the more Sebastian talked to him, the more it felt like a calm academic debate than a conversion routine.

And the debate had gotten Fenris thinking about the Maker more than he had since he’d been under Danarius’s thumb.

Fenris’s relationship with the Andrastian faith was… complicated. He’d heard two very different versions of the Maker’s love from two very different classes of people. The magisters and their ilk claimed that their magical tyranny was in the Maker’s name, while Fenris’s fellow slaves whispered that the Maker would deliver them from their suffering if they prayed hard enough. Fenris hadn’t seen any evidence that either story was true. But he had always rather envied the peace that the other slaves derived from their daily prayers. After his talks with Sebastian, Fenris was starting to wonder if perhaps the Maker worked in a more quiet manner than the epic rescue that most slaves seemed to hope for.

He was quiet for long enough that Hawke began to fidget awkwardly beside him. Finally he took a gulp of his wine. “I am not… convinced by it,” he said finally. “Sebastian says the Maker has a greater plan. To trust that this grand plan will ensure that justice is done. But how long does a person need to suffer before the Maker takes mercy on them? Their entire life? Where is the justice in that?” He stared broodily into his wine glass for a moment before going on. “Are you meant to simply wait until the Maker comes to help you? To sit passively until He comes and scoops you from your misery? That is not how life works. Not mine, at any rate.”

He broke off, wondering why it felt so much more personal to talk about this with Hawke than with Sebastian. The topic was the same. And if anything, Sebastian was more pushy than Hawke was. So why was he finding it difficult to look at her?

Hawke seemed to find it difficult too, because she was quiet. Abnormally quiet. Fenris glanced at her and found her nibbling her lower lip. 

“It is unlike you to be so silent,” he remarked. “Do you not have any opinion about this?” 

“No, I do,” she said. Then she continued biting her lip.

Fenris tilted his head chidingly. “Hawke. You’ve never minced your words before. I don’t see why you would start now.” 

She was silent for a moment longer, then she lifted her chin in a mock-dignified manner. “They say you shouldn’t discuss politics, religion, or sex in polite conversation,” she said virtuously. 

Fenris smirked at her prim expression. “Conversations with you are never polite,” he drawled. “Half of the words that leave your mouth revolve around sex. And _you_ brought up the topic of religion in the first place.”

She laughed, then relaxed and stretched her legs out toward the fireplace. “Correct on all counts. But if I tell you what I think, you have to promise you won’t get mad.” 

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “That depends on how you say whatever you’re about to say,” he replied, then smiled. “I suspect I’m about to be entertained, at the very least. Perhaps you should offer me snacks.”

Hawke grinned at him, then ran her hands through her hair. “Okay. Well, I don’t believe in the Maker, for one.” 

Fenris nodded slowly. “I gathered as much. Go on.” 

She eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged. “All right. Here’s the thing. It’s too convenient,” she said. “Chantry people are always all, ‘oh, it’s the Maker’s will, it’s the Maker’s will’. No matter what happens, they always say it’s the Maker’s will. But how do they _know?_ ” She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “There’s no hard concrete proof that he ever existed. I mean, there’s proof that Andraste was a person. There are artifacts and stuff, and she’s splashed throughout the history books of all the different cultures across Thedas. She probably wasn’t as much of a badass as the books made her sound, but she was certainly real. But the Maker… As far as I know, there’s no proof. It’s more likely that when weird shit happens, it’s random chance, not the work of the Maker.” 

Fenris grunted an acknowledgement, and Hawke looked at him warily. “Should I go on?” she asked.

He nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, Hawke continued. “I just think it’s unfair to make everyone act in the supposed wishes of this possibly-nonexistent all-powerful _man_ just in case he decides to show up someday. People shouldn’t do nice things because the Maker wants them to. They should do nice things because they’re nice things to do. And don’t get me started on the whole abstinence thing!” She barked out an incredulous laugh, then rolled over onto her back and smiled at Fenris. “All these Chantry sisters and brothers putting aside ‘worldly pleasures’ because they think the Maker wants them to? Ridiculous. I’m going to enjoy the life I’ve got, thanks very much. I’ve got a body that feels things and wants things and _hungers_? Then I’m going to feed it. I’m not going to shun the things that make me happy on the chance that abstaining might maybe make the Maker happy. Again, _if_ he exists. Which I doubt.” 

Fenris stared at her stretched-out supine form, compelled by the unusual conviction of her words. Especially what she’d said about _a body that feels things and wants things and hungers…_

He shifted uncomfortably, then forced himself to focus on her words. “And for those who hope the Maker will save them from the misery of their lives?” he said. “The people who pray that He’ll deliver them to something better than what they’ve suffered so far? What would you say to them?”

Hawke’s smile slowly faded into a look of wary caution. “I wouldn’t say anything to them,” she said slowly. “Everything I’m saying now is purely between you and me. And the dog. But he’s not much of one for gossip.” She jerked her chin at Toby, who was lolling on the carpet at their feet.

“Humour me,” Fenris said. “Do you not think there is value in such prayer? In that kind of hope?”

Suddenly Fenris realized why this conversation felt so much more personal with Hawke than with Sebastian. He wasn’t really asking Hawke about religion. He didn’t really care whether she believed in the Maker or not. What he was really asking her was about hope. 

_Hope._ That poisonous, tempting thing that she’d encouraged him to have. That dangerous, nebulous thing that eluded him now, and the lack of which had driven him to push her away. 

Fenris had wanted to believe his life could be better, but he just… couldn’t imagine how. That faith, that trust that he’d eventually have a good and happy life - he couldn’t ever remember having that kind of hope. And Hawke, despite her obvious atheism, was completely awash with it. 

And Fenris needed to understand how. 

Oblivious to his anguished thoughts, Hawke rolled onto her belly again. “I do think there’s value in prayer,” she said. “Specifically for the hope thing. If believing in the Maker is what people need to keep on going, then they should do exactly that.”

Fenris grumbled another acknowledgement, and they were silent for some time. Surreptitiously he studied her idly waving feet and the contentment in her face as the flames flickered across her features. 

“How are _you_ so damned hopeful all the time?” Fenris suddenly blurted. “Your life hasn’t been… well. You’ve… suffered losses.” She turned to look at him with wide eyes, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling slightly ashamed by his graceless outburst. 

He tried again. “I simply mean… Some people rely on the Maker. You do not. What… how do you…?”

He trailed off, unsure how to phrase his question, but thankfully Hawke understood. She slowly resumed a sitting position as she replied. “I think I’d find it more disturbing if there _was_ some unknown mystical man planning out my fate. I rather like the idea of everything being random,” she said. “I take comfort in that chaos.” 

Despite his growing agitation, Fenris smiled. “Why does that not surprise me?” he deadpanned, and she treated him to a slow, mischievous smile.

But Fenris still wasn’t quite satisfied by her response. “Chaos and randomness, then. That’s it? That’s what gives you hope?” he demanded. 

Hawke stretched her feet toward the fire again and leaned back on her elbows. “No,” she said casually. “I just…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just a hopeful person, I suppose. Things seem to work out all right for me. I mean, aside from Father dying and Bethany being killed by that ogre and good old Carver joining the Templars just to get away from me…” She took a deep breath, then smiled brightly at him. “But you know, that’s life. People die, and people leave, and shitty things happen to everyone. It could be worse, right?” 

Fenris studied her smile with a painfully pounding heart. It made no sense. _She_ made no sense. She had every right to be angry. Her own brother had been resentful and angry. So how wasn’t she? 

Tongue-tied, he continued to study her bright and brittle smile until she laughed uncertainly and ran her hand through her long dark hair. “Well, enough about me,” she said. “I much prefer the conversation we were having before about the broody handsome elf and the generically handsome Chantry man. It’s like the set-up for a fantastic joke.” 

She snickered, and Fenris scrambled to control his emotions. He was suddenly feeling angry, and he wasn’t sure exactly why or at whom. Hawke was right; terrible things happened to everyone. So _how_ wasn’t she angry about the things that had befallen her? How could she suffer such things and still carry on so cheerfully? It was… 

_Unfair_ was the wrong word. That wasn’t what he felt. It wasn’t like Fenris _wanted_ Hawke to be angry. This rage was corrosive; it was horrible and poisonous and all-consuming. It had eaten away the possibility of anything meaningful between himself and the woman lounging beside him. Fenris absolutely didn’t want her to feel this way. Nobody should feel this way. 

“Fenris?” Hawke said tentatively.

He jolted, then shakily reached for his wine. He took a large gulp, then blurted the first thing he could think of to say. “I went to the Chantry to pray,” he said. 

Her jaw dropped. Then she covered her face with her hands and groaned. “For fuck’s sakes, Fenris, you couldn’t have led with that?” she said plaintively. “Now I’m even more of an asshole than I already sounded.”

Her beautiful face was scrunched up with horror, and she looked so discomfited that Fenris finally laughed, albeit tensely. “It was worth it to see your face right now,” he teased. “You are redder than the wine in my glass.”

She punched him lightly in the arm and smiled sheepishly, then rubbed nervously at her bare throat. “And?” she said cautiously. “Did you… uh… How was it? Were there any… um… epiphanies or anything?” 

He smirked. He could tell how hard she was trying to rein in her skepticism, and it was oddly endearing. “No epiphanies,” he said. “But it was… peaceful, I suppose. It’s very quiet there.” He rolled his mostly-empty glass between his palms. “I am not stared at as much as I thought I would be. It’s… a very calm place to be.” 

“It sounds nice,” she murmured, and he nodded in agreement.

They were silent for a while. As Fenris watched the flickering of the fire, he allowed his myriad thoughts to swirl idly through his mind. He thought about Hawke’s hardships - her late father and sister, Carver leaving the family to join the Templars instead, her lost home in Lothering. He thought about Danarius, about the fog warriors and his yet-unknown sister. He thought about the quiet in the Chantry: the dancing motes of dust in the air that were set aglow by the afternoon sun slanting through the stained glass windows. And he thought about Hawke’s constant and irrepressible grin. 

Without really thinking, Fenris opened his mouth to speak. At the exact same moment, Hawke spoke as well. 

“I could come to the Chantry with you if you like-”

“If you wished to come to the Chantry with me, I would not be opposed-” 

They both stopped abruptly, and Fenris grinned as she burst into laughter. “Of course I’ll come,” she said happily. “I’ll bring a bag of sunflower seeds with me.”

Fenris frowned in sudden confusion. “Why?”

She raised her eyebrows as though he was being dense. “To flick the shells at the back of Sebastian’s head, of course,” she said. “How can he really know his faith unless it’s being tested?”

Fenris admired her mischievous grin, then finally shook his head and chuckled. “You’re an idiot,” he said, out of pure habit. 

The cherished pet phrase sat in the sudden silence between them, heavy with the memory of how easy and _good_ their past flirtation used to be. How happy he’d thought he was, back before he’d realized too late - far too late - that he was utterly unprepared to be with her.

Fenris dropped his gaze to his hands. He could feel the easy glow of their camaraderie fading away, like a blissful dream being beaten back by the cold light of day. 

Then Hawke reached out and tapped the scarlet scarf on his wrist. “Only for you,” she said, with uncharacteristic gravity. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

 _As I would for you,_ he thought as he met her clear amber eyes. But he couldn’t say it, because it wasn’t true. The one thing he couldn’t give her was the one thing he knew she really wanted. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty. “Thank you, Hawke,” he said quietly. 

“You’re welcome,” she whispered. Then she turned her gaze back to the fire. 

They sat in a silence for a while, their hands close together on the carpet between them, and Fenris was visited by yet another painful reminder of how tantalizing this situation would have been just a few short weeks ago. Before their glorious but ill-fated night together, he would have been entranced by the simple idea of reaching out, of sliding his fingers closer to hers and taking her hand. Of feeling her palm against his bare skin. 

Now that he’d tasted the full glory of Hawke’s torrid and unrestrained affections, the idea of merely holding her hand was too much to consider, while at the same time being nowhere near enough. 

Abruptly he drained his wine glass. “I will be going now,” he said, then rose to his feet.

She looked up at him in disappointment. “So soon?” she said wistfully. And it was true; he and Hawke were intractable night owls, and Fenris’s evenings with Hawke normally stretched into the wee hours of the morning. 

But that was… before.

Now, being around Hawke for too long was painful. Watching her mouth while she talked and remembering the _rightness_ of those lips pressed against his… It was a stinging reminder of a life he couldn’t have, not with the blank wasteland that was both his past and his future making him so vulnerable.

He shrugged listlessly. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said. 

Finally Hawke shrugged as well, then stood and trailed him into the main room, with Toby faithfully following at her heels. 

“Don’t bother yourseIf. I can let myself out,” he said. The wistful ache behind his sternum was becoming heavier by the second, and he didn’t think he could bear the sight of her closing the door behind him tonight. 

Hawke shot him a coquettish look. “I should hope you can operate a door on your own. Big strapping boy like you?”

He huffed in amusement, and Hawke chuckled as she knelt beside Toby and affectionately rubbed the mabari’s neck. “Bye, Fenris.”

“Goodnight,” he said softly, then made his way to the door. Just before he stepped out of her house, he glanced back at her.

She was sitting on the carpet, hugging the big mabari around the neck, her face hidden against his fur. Toby looked at Fenris and tilted his head, and it was probably just Fenris’s imagination, but the mabari’s expression seemed oddly reproachful. 

The now-familiar throb of remorse ached in his chest, and he wearily pushed it aside. Hawke was the most blithely hopeful person he knew. If her sunny sense of optimism hadn’t been crushed by the loss of half her family and her home, then losing their fledgling relationship wouldn’t crush her either. Fenris had to believe that. 

He wondered if Sebastian would let him into the Chantry this late at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop by and say hi [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like!


	12. The Book of Love, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the rivalmance [Book of Shartan dialogue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pc4ASYNv4Q). For those of you who had the bliss of friendmancing Fenris: omg guys, HE IS SO MEAN/DEFENSIVE ABOUT THIS BOOK WHEN YOU'RE RIVALMANCING HIM. The contrast when you're friendmancing him is genuinely staggering. I just had to find a way to explain why he was so testy, in order to heal my own heart. I mean Hawke's heart. WHATEVER, DON'T JUDGE ME.
> 
> This takes place after [Baby Come Back And Fight With Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523588) (i.e. the breakup scene in Act 2).

Fenris sat in the dank study of his mansion, staring resentfully at the rows of moldy books that lined the shelves. 

He rarely came into this room, having no use for it. The books might as well be spoiled meat for all the good they were to him, and any other furniture this room had held had long been used for testing his weapons. 

He shouldn’t even be here now; staring at the books was only worsening his already-thunderous mood. But Fenris didn’t feel like shaking off his anger today, preferring instead to wallow in it as the late afternoon sun cast its slowly moving shadows across the shelves. 

The source of his ire was Anders. Fenris usually just deflected the self-righteous mage’s pointed comments and criticisms; in Fenris’s opinion, Anders was the last person in their little group who should be giving advice on life choices. But for some reason, he just wasn’t able to ignore Anders’s words today. 

He’d called Fenris an animal. Accused Fenris of reacting to threats in the thoughtless and instinctive manner of a rabid dog, and then of _being_ no better than a rabid dog for all the lack of changes he’d made during his time in Kirkwall. 

“We’ve all been here for years, and you’re just as pissed off as you were when you first stumbled upon us,” Anders railed. “You haven’t tried to make anything of yourself in all this time. All you do is brood in your mansion or complain at Hawke while you follow us around! At least some of us are trying to change things for the better here.” 

“Ah, yes. And your so-called ‘spirit companion’ threatening that girl in the Gallows Dungeon _really_ improves the state of affairs in this blasted city,” Fenris snarled.

Predictably, the conversation had devolved into a furious shouting match which Varric had watched with raised eyebrows and folded arms until Hawke had sauntered out of the Chantry and broken it up with a joke. Fenris has promptly taken his leave, unable to stand another second in the miserable maleficar’s company. 

In some ways, it was good. The normalcy of Anders’ blind idiocy was almost a comfort. Fenris would have hated it more if Anders was - ugh - _sympathetic_ in the wake of his and Hawke’s… split, or break-up, or whatever one would call it when something promising ended before it had even begun. But Fenris couldn’t seem to rein in his rage as much as he used to when he and Hawke had been… whatever they were before.

The most aggravating part was that Anders’s words held a kernel of truth. Fenris sat in this stagnant mansion night after night, and it felt like he was stagnating along with the abandoned walls around him. Everything in his life seemed stalled somehow: he was stuck looking over his shoulder for the next attack from Danarius’s men, and he was lingering in this odd and aching imitation of friendship with Hawke, and meanwhile Hadriana’s information about his sister sat unused and untouched at the back of his mind. He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t acted in some way on the information about Varania. Was it mistrust? Caution? Or worse, cowardice? 

His rumination was interrupted by a brisk rapping at the door. Fenris rose wearily to his feet and trudged to the main entryway. 

It was Hawke, her bronze eyes as bright as her smile. She was holding something rectangular in her hands, and as soon as he opened the door, she thrust it towards him. “Look what I found!” she chirped, then strode into his foyer.

He studied the item. “It’s… a book,” he said blankly. 

“You are correct, sir! Ten silvers to the handsome elf in the front row!” She planted her hand on her hip, looking very pleased indeed. “It’s by Shartan! You know, the elf who helped Andraste free the slaves-”

Fenris cut her off. “I know who he is,” he snapped. “What do you take me for?” 

Her face fell slightly, and Fenris immediately wanted to punch himself. _This_ was why he shouldn’t be sitting here stewing self-indulgently in his own rage; it was spilling over like soup in an overfilled tureen and burning the one person who deserved it the least.

He took a deep breath. “I know of Shartan,” he said more calmly. “I certainly didn’t learn from books, though. You think they teach slaves to read?” 

He was grateful when Hawke ignored the sharpness of his tone this time. “I know you can’t read it,” she said. “But I thought maybe you’d like to learn! I helped my parents to teach Bethany and Carver, so I’m - well, not _qualified_ , but I’m not as stupid as I look, I promise you that.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I bet you’ll pick it up much faster than Carver,” she added. “Even when we were kids, he never was the sharpest nail in the box.”

“So that’s what this is? Let’s teach the poor slave to read?” Fenris snapped. The book was heavy in his hands, another reminder of how he was wasting his freedom. For over three years he’d lived in a mansion full of books, and he remained as ignorant of their contents as the day he’d first claimed this blasted house.

Ignorant. Instinct rather than intellect, anger rather than reason, a rabid wolf just waiting for his master to arrive so he could bite him clean through to the bone. 

Hawke’s cautious voice broke through the blackness of his thoughts. “Fenris, that’s not… You haven’t been a slave for years.” 

“And?” he retorted. He gestured emphatically with the book in his hand. “Have I not been learning your ways quickly enough to suit you? Am I not civilized enough for your liking? Is that it?” 

“No! That’s ridic- Why would you…” Hawke trailed off with a frown, then tilted her head. “What in the bloody Void did Anders say to you? Something tells me he needs a good roughing-up. I could get some of Athenril’s people to make it look like a slip-and-fall.” 

Fenris exhaled slowly and ran his fingers through his hair. He was being too transparent, too open with his anger, and it wasn’t even meant for her. Why she always got stuck bearing the brunt of it… “It was nothing. Ignore me,” he muttered. “You are not responsible for my deficiencies.” With some difficulty, he met her eyes. “I do appreciate your gift,” he added in a gentler tone. 

Hawke’s frown deepened. “What deficiencies?” she said. “What do you mean by that?” 

He stared her blankly for a moment, then with a jolt of horror, he realized what he’d said. “I… n-nothing,” he snapped, feeling put uncomfortably on the spot. This whole conversation seemed to be slipping away from his control, unwittingly giving her access to exactly what he’d meant to keep to himself: his shortcomings, his failings and the things he lacked. “I misspoke,” he insisted. “A slip of the tongue. I meant nothing by it.” 

She raised one eyebrow, but her expression was otherwise serious. “You don’t have any deficiencies,” she said, as though stating the obvious. “I mean, not more than the rest of us. I really do think you’d learn to read quite fast. You’re the second smartest person I know, after Varric.”

“Thank you. I think,” he drawled sarcastically. 

She punched him chidingly in the arm. “I mean it. You’re thoughtful, your vocabulary is bigger than mine, you’re a fast learner - at least with weapons and combat stuff. And you speak three languages, which is more than most of us can say.” 

By the time she’d finished, Fenris’s ears were positively burning. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He _couldn’t_. Her words were a balm and a poison, a reassurance he couldn’t accept, because if he accepted it, that would mean letting her in and letting her _see_ , and that had gone so disastrously before - 

“Come on, Fenris. Give it a chance,” she said, in that sweet and honeyed voice of hers. “Honestly, you’ll probably be reading rings around me in a couple months. And hey, once you learn to read, you can read Anders’s manifesto and pick him apart that much more effectively.”

“I thought you agreed with his manifesto,” Fenris muttered. He was stalling and he knew it, but he needed time to think about her offer. 

“I agree with parts of it. But think how much more argument material you’ll have once you can read it for yourself!” She tilted her head and smiled wistfully. “I can already picture all the bottles of brandy I’ll drink while listening to the two of you screaming well-informed political rhetoric at each other. It’s like a beautiful wet dream.”

A small snort of laughter escaped him. Trust Hawke to drag him from his dark thoughts and straight into the gutter. 

Finally he shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to learn more of Shartan,” he said slowly. “Perhaps this is my chance.”

She grinned slowly. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Yes. Fine. You can teach me.” He offered her a half-smile.

She clapped her hands and did a happy little hop that would have made Merrill proud. “Yes!” she chirped. “We’ll get started tomorrow.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Not today?” he asked. Given her bubbly enthusiasm, he was surprised she wasn’t dragging him over to the table by his ear right now. 

She shook her head. “I need some things from home,” she said as she reached for the doorknob. “And to make sure I remember how to, you know, teach this to someone.” 

Fenris grunted. “I thought you said you were qualified.”

“Wrong,” she sang. “I said I wasn’t as stupid as I look. You, however, will get to be the judge of that!” She winked at him, then slipped out the door. 

Fenris smirked and closed the door behind her. He idly ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the mansion. The quiet darkness was restored now in the wake of Hawke’s departure, but it somehow felt less dour than before. 

He cast a glance toward the study with its daunting collection of books. He wasn’t entirely convinced that learning to read would be as easy as Hawke was promising, but… well, he was willing to try. 

After three years of stagnating, it was _something_ he could do.

********************* 

The first few reading lessons went well enough. Hawke taught Fenris the runic alphabet and the sounds each letter made, and Fenris was secretly pleased with himself when he mastered them in less than a week. Hawke then taught him to put the letters together to sound out the words, giving him slips of parchment with individual words to practice with. That went all right as well, though it made him somewhat uncomfortable to have her watching him as he laboriously read the words out loud.

Then came the day when she sat beside him at the table in her games room and plopped an open book in front of him. “Now read this,” she said, “and I’ll correct any mistakes you make.” 

Fenris stared at the page. Sounding out and blending together a few letters at a time was one thing. Picking apart and making sense of the wall of text in front of him was quite another. 

He frowned at the book and gestured vaguely at it. “How…?” 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Sorry. You start up here,” she pointed to the upper left corner of the page, “and you read the lines from left to right. Then keep going on the next line down.” 

Fenris pursed his lips. Then he began reading the first line.

It took forever, and Hawke had to correct him at least five times. He was forced to trace the letters with his finger so as not to lose his place. At the end of the line, he released a long exhale, totally uncertain of his success, then looked at Hawke. 

She was beaming at him, looking absolutely delighted, and Fenris cleared his throat awkwardly. That odd discomfort was writhing in his belly, making him feel vaguely irritated.

He scowled at the page. “I… I don’t remember what I just read,” he admitted grudgingly. 

“That’s normal,” Hawke assured him. “Focus on reading the words accurately. It becomes automatic with practice, and then you’ll be able to focus on the meaning instead of the sounds.” She pointed to the next line. “Read the rest of this paragraph, it’s just two more lines. Then go back and read the whole thing again. It’ll be easier the second time.”

“This is tedious,” he muttered. 

She barked out a laugh and propped her bare feet up on the table as she always did. “Isn’t everything, though? I wish I could just be good at things without practicing. Like that whole knife-throwing lark.”

Fenris shot her a tiny smirk. “I did notice you never came back for another lesson.”

She smirked back at him. “That’s because I’m lazy,” she said. She tapped the book. “But _you_ won’t give this up. You’ll learn this much more easily than I could learn to throw knives.”

He rolled his eyes. “You flatter me, Hawke,” he drawled. 

“I’m really not,” she said, and Fenris sobered at her warm but serious tone. “I don’t give idle compliments. Okay, fine, I do,” she amended with a grin when Fenris shot her a sardonic look. “But I’m not now. This is well within your reach, Fenris.” 

He studied her serious face in silence for a moment, still feeling that vibrating sense of discomfiture in his gut. Hawke was so convinced of his ability to do this. All these lessons she’d given him, the time she’d spent teaching him - she was being so patient and kind. It was… strange.

It was a side of Hawke he wasn’t used to seeing. Not to say she was unkind by any means, but the motivation for her helpful deeds tended to err on the side of necessity or obligation rather than true altruism. And she could be so damned impulsive at times, to the point that it was almost slapstick; patience wasn’t usually her forte, at least not in the field. But during these lessons with him, she was so generous with her time. So… benevolent. 

Another wave of defensiveness made his shoulders feel tense. She wasn’t being condescending; it wasn’t that. So why was her gentle attention making him feel so discomfited?

He cleared his throat, then turned his attention back to the book. He struggled his way through the next two lines with Hawke’s help, then risked another glance at her. 

Her cheek was propped on her fist, her dimples emphasized by the sweet little smile on her lips. He stared at her for a moment, discomfort rising through his gut and into his throat until suddenly - 

“Why must you look at me like that?” he demanded.

Her smile disappeared, and she lifted her cheek from her fist. “Like what?”

 _As though you love me,_ he thought with a surge of agonizing realization. The affection and the pride in her face were so transparently obvious. But Fenris didn’t want this kind of protective tenderness from Hawke. He didn’t know how to react to that look on her face. He didn’t know how to cope with this sweetly aching feeling her expression was giving him. 

The sudden anguish took him by surprise. Regret and guilt, a hot and painful longing for her, all wrapped up in an instinctive urge to back away from her and raise a wall between them - 

He returned his gaze to the book, rubbing his thumb idly on the page. “You’re looking at me as though I am some… small child who has learned to tie their boots,” he finally muttered. “I am not a child. Do not coddle me.” 

“I’m not-” She broke off, then tried again with a smile. “Trust me, the thoughts I have about you have _nothing_ to do with children. Adults only in this dirty mind, please.” 

Her voice was light and humorous, but Fenris knew how serious she was, and that only made it worse. His gaze drifted from the runes on the page to the red scarf she’d tied around his wrist. The promise she’d made, telling him she would wait until he was ready. This evidence of her patience that he stroked every night before falling asleep and studied every morning when he opened his eyes. 

But Fenris’s corruption went too deep, far deeper than the white lines that marked his skin. The anger, the lacune where his memories should be, the distance he maintained from her even though he wanted nothing more than to draw her close…

It was too much. All of it was too much, and _he_ was not enough. Hawke might be patient, but her patience was not going to pay off. 

Meanwhile, Hawke was still talking. “This is the only way I know how to teach this,” she said apologetically. “I’m not treating you as a child, I swear. I’d teach anyone to do this in the same way.”

Fenris swallowed hard, then stood from the table. “I’ve had enough.” 

“Oh,” Hawke said blankly. “Um. All right, are - are you coming back tomorrow?” she asked. 

The hopeful note in her voice was another arrow to his already-aching chest. “Perhaps,” he said, then left her mansion as swiftly as he could without running.

He _was_ running, though, and he knew it. Running and hiding were the two things Fenris did best. Not to forget biting the hand that reached so openly for his heart.

Maybe he was a rabid wolf after all.

****************

Later that night, Fenris stepped into the Hanged Man. He noticed that Isabela wasn’t there, and he was glad; as much as he usually appreciated her lighthearted company, he was really here to speak to Varric. He already knew Isabela’s opinion on his… circumstances with Hawke, and the pirate captain’s salacious bias was quite clear. But Varric was a more neutral party, and Fenris just wanted…

To be frank, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But now that he was here, he might as well proceed. 

He headed for the rear of the tavern, but just before he stepped into Varric’s suite, he realized that Varric wasn’t alone. 

“... thought it was going so well, you know? He’s got a damned good brain under that gorgeous mop of white hair. And then… I don’t know. I guess I messed it up. Rynne strikes again with her big mouth.”

 _Hawke._ Fenris’s heart stopped for a split second. He melted into the shadows in the corridor before he could see or be seen by either Varric or Hawke.

Varric replied before Fenris could slip back down the stairs. “What exactly did you say?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it must have been something. I put my foot in my mouth so often, it’s a miracle I can even walk anywhere. Maybe Aveline’s foot up my ass makes up for the one that’s always wedged in my mouth.” 

Varric chortled. “As entertaining as this metaphor is, it’s getting way out of hand.” 

Hawke laughed as well, then sighed. “Varric, why does he hate me?” 

Fenris’s stomach sank with dismay. Was that really what she thought? 

“He doesn’t _hate_ you,” Varric replied in exasperation. “You’re being melodramatic. He’s just-” 

“I know, I know. I don’t really mean it,” Hawke said hurriedly, and they were silent for a moment. 

Fenris’s gut writhed with guilt. He shouldn’t be hearing this. He took another step back toward the stairs, but when Varric spoke again, the temptation to listen was too great. 

“I know you’re biding your time or whatever. But what happens if the broody elf just… doesn’t stop brooding?”

“I’m not giving up, if that’s what you’re asking,” Hawke said firmly. “I can’t. I’m wrapped around his lyrium-laced little finger. And what strong and handsome fingers they are.” 

Varric groaned in disgust, and Hawke chuckled. There was a soft creaking sound as though she was rolling over on Varric’s bed, then she spoke again. “I think he just needs time. I can give him that. I’ve got nothing but time. I’m practically made of time!”

Varric cleared his throat delicately. “I’m pretty sure the Viscount would disagree. I think he’s still hoping you’ll magically fix this whole Qunari-squatting-on-the-docks-and-converting-the-citizens situation.” 

“Oh. Right. That,” Hawke said slowly. “I guess we are due for a friendly chat with the Arishok.” She sighed. “We’ll go tomorrow. I don’t know how everyone expects _me_ to help, though. I’m the worst possible diplomat.” 

Varric huffed with amusement, and they were quiet again for a moment. Then, while Fenris was agonizing over whether to knock and announce his presence or just sneak back down the stairs, Varric’s voice broke the silence. “Hawke, can I ask you something?”

Her tone was cheeky when she replied. “The answer is yes, Varric, you _do_ need to trim your chest hair. Quite frankly, it’s getting out of hand. Isabela’s ovaries don’t quite know what to do with themselves.” 

Varric snickered, and despite his agitation, Fenris smirked as well. “Thanks,” Varric drawled. “That clears things up. But seriously. What’s the deal with you and Fenris? You in love with him, or…?”

A prickle of horrified guilt ran from the crown of Fenris’s head down his spine, and he bolted silently for the stairs before he could hear Hawke’s reply. That was definitely too much to hear - he had no right. And he _really_ didn’t want to know her answer.

He sat hunched in the darkest corner of the main room until Hawke’s lovely dark-haired silhouette left the tavern, then made his way to Varric’s suite and cautiously poked his head in. “Varric,” he grunted. 

The dwarf looked up, his booted feet propped on the table in a posture very reminiscent of Hawke’s usual lounging pose. “Hey, elf,” he greeted. “Come on in.” 

Fenris slowly entered the suite and sat at the table, and Varric wasted no time diving into his comfort zone. “So,” he said. “How much of that conversation did you overhear?”

Fenris scowled shamefacedly at his hands. Of course Varric had known he was there. “Not all of it,” he muttered. He shot Varric a furtive sidelong glance. “Did Hawke know I was…?”

“Nah,” Varric said airily. “No way I’d mention that. I mean, I like making fun of her as much as the next guy, but not about this kind of shit. That’s way too far.” 

Fenris grunted an acknowledgement. Both men were silent for a moment. 

Then Fenris tugged his ear. “I am… I am being an ass,” he admitted. “I do _not_ hate her.” _Quite the opposite,_ he thought, with a surge of regret. 

Varric waited quietly while Fenris struggled to find his next words. “I don’t want her pity,” he finally said. “That is the last thing I want.”

But that wasn’t really what he meant. That made it sound like this whole horrible impasse was Hawke’s fault, when nothing could be farther from the truth. 

He slumped back in his chair in frustration, and finally Varric spoke. “You’re the only one who sees yourself as a charity case,” the dwarf said bluntly. Then he waved a hand at Fenris’s lyrium-stained chin and neck. “You define yourself by these weird tattoos. It’s up to you if that’s all you’re ever going to be.” 

Fenris scowled. It was the _you-need-to-move-on_ speech yet again. He kept hearing variants of this: first from Hawke with her incessant optimism, then Anders with his sanctimonious blathering, and now Varric. Fenris hated hearing these words, and not only because he knew they were true.

It wasn’t enough to acknowledge the truth. He had to act on it if he wanted to break free of his past, and be reunited with his sister, and become somebody who was whole and undamaged and… ready. 

But taking action was the hardest part. 

Fenris glared at Varric, but the dwarf just gazed back at him undaunted until Fenris relaxed his shoulders and sighed. “Wise words,” Fenris said snarkily. “You should write a book.” 

Varric lifted his hands graciously. “What can I say, I’ve got a gift.” 

Fenris gave him a small smirk, and Varric settled back in his chair. “So. You going to continue the reading lessons or what?” 

Fenris shrugged, feeling rather melancholy. Now that Hawke had planted the idea of literacy in his mind, he was actually quite keen to continue. But learning to read with _her_ , sitting so close to her night after night with her glowing smile and her glowing amber eyes… 

“I’m not sure,” he said finally. The idea was tempting, but Fenris feared that he wanted it for the wrong reasons. He toyed idly with the ends of Hawke’s red scarf as he mulled it over. 

“I guess I could teach you,” Varric offered. “If your, uh, other arrangement doesn’t work out.”

Fenris bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I... appreciate the thought. I will consider it,” he said. “But for now…” He hesitated. A small idea had taken root in his brain, and maybe it was a stupid one - he’d barely just learned his letters, how could he be considering this already? But Hawke did it, and if it was good enough for her… 

He turned to Varric. “Can I borrow a plume? And some ink and parchment?” 

Varric raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Sure,” he said. He smirked. “You gonna write her a ballad?” 

Fenris snorted. “Of course not,” he said scornfully. “I must practice the alphabet. I don’t want to forget the little that I have managed to learn.” 

Varric shrugged, easily accepting the excuse. “Fair enough,” he said, then rose from the table and went to fetch the supplies.

While Varric was rummaging, Fenris considered his burgeoning idea. Being around Hawke for too long was difficult now, and Fenris felt like he was either biting or tripping over his tongue in an attempt to quell his furiously spinning emotions. Talking about this with anyone but Varric was out of the question, but even telling Varric felt like too much exposure.

So Fenris would write it all out. 

He’d seen Hawke doing this: writing in a journal sometimes, her hand flying across the page as she wrote about her day. Fenris hadn’t really understood it, but now…

Now, he spent too much time thinking about Hawke, and it _hurt._ He’d think about her childish pranks and her lewd jokes and how they cheered him up. He’d think about her unequivocal support, her patient teaching, the promise she’d tied around his wrist and the belief she had that he could be more than he was. 

He’d think about her, and it would hurt, and he would push away from her to escape it, spreading that pain where it wasn’t warranted. But if he wrote it out instead, poured the poison into parchment and stuffed it under his bed, maybe it would be contained. 

Varric handed him the supplies, and after a quick negotiation about the time and date of their next diamondback game, Fenris left the Hanged Man. 

He knew the first thing he was going to try to write when he got home. He would start with something simple, something he’d known since their one shining ill-fated night. Something he’d failed to tell her then and couldn’t tell her now. 

_You are the one good thing in my life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did call this chapter _Part I_ on purpose. There will be a follow-up to this. Feel free to subscribe to this fic or series for updates :3 
> 
> The chapter that chronologically follows this one is a separate oneshot called [The Skin I Live In.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645181) Sorry about this - I was disorganized when writing this ship... XD
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), if you would like to talk Broody Elf™ with me. xo


	13. Five and One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times that Fenris took Hawke's hand, and one time he held it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently learned about this interesting fic structure called (variably) the "five things" or "five plus one" fic, where one particular type of event occurs five times, and then a contrasting/opposite event occurs once. I basically took that idea and ran with it here.
> 
> Also, this is basically my ham-fisted way of blitzing through the THREE YEARS between Act II and III. It takes place after [Standing Still,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688122) i.e. the Arishok duel at the end of Act II.
> 
> Small shoutout to my favourite Merrill & Fenris banter here.

**_-One-_ **

Hawke took a slow, deep breath, then handed the urn to Carver. “Here,” she said. “You can have the honours.”

Carver gingerly took the urn from her hands. He studied the fine porcelain receptacle for a moment before speaking. “I wish we could have buried her with Father,” he said softly. “And Bethany too.” 

Fenris watched as Hawke took another deep breath, then smiled at her younger brother. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “Mother will float away on the wind and find them much more easily like this. And maybe some bits of her will go floating off to Orlais or Rivain or somewhere nice and exotic. She always did want to travel in style.” 

Carver huffed. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” 

She shrugged and gave him another devil-may-care grin. “Why bother? Life’s so short already.” She nodded at the edge of the cliff and waved her hand expansively at the calm waters of the Wounded Coast. “Go ahead. Send her off. Just… make sure the wind is blowing the right way first.”

Carver shot her an annoyed look, then opened the lid of the urn. After a moment’s hesitation, he released Leandra Amell’s ashes to the air. 

The whole group watched in silence as the ashes drifted away into the wind, but Fenris studied Hawke from the corner of his eye. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her customary grin replaced by a look of utter seriousness. 

She held herself very still for a long moment. Then, with a heavy exhale, she loosened her arms and looked at Carver. “Come here, you big dummy,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around her brother’s shoulders in a tight hug.

Carver’s eyes widened with surprise for a moment, then he hugged her in return. Varric cleared his throat gruffly, and Sebastian squeezed his shoulder while Fenris pretended not to notice. 

A moment later, Carver sighed and pressed his face against Hawke’s shoulder. “I wish….” he muttered, then trailed off into silence. 

“I know,” Hawke said softly. She sniffed, then in a bright voice she said, “Keep on wishing, baby brother. Something will come true eventually. That’s how probability works, right?”

Anders chuckled. “Not quite,” he said gently, and Hawke shot him a little wink.

“I do wish you’d stop calling me ‘baby brother’,” Carver muttered. 

Hawke laughed and squeezed him harder. “Best keep on wishing, because that’s not going to happen.” 

Carver grunted. A few moments later, he extricated himself from Hawke’s arms and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Well. The memorial reception is at your, er. It’s at the house tonight, right?”

“Yes, around sunset,” she confirmed. “And bring a date! It’s sure to be a smashing party.” She tilted her head. “You’re allowed to date, right? You’re not one of those boring celibate Templars, are you?”

Carver rolled his eyes and walked away. Hawke smirked at his departing back, then sighed and seated herself on the ground. 

Varric slowly approached and patted her shoulder. “You okay, Hawke? You want a moment alone?”

She playfully wrinkled her nose at him. “Not a chance. Have you met me? Come sit with me, all of you.” 

Fenris and the others seated themselves on the grass. An awkward, quiet moment later, Hawke spoke up. “So, Aveline. Any raunchy sex stories you want to share with us?”

Aveline’s face instantly turned beet red, and there was a ripple of laughter from the rest of the group as the Knight-Captain sputtered. “Hawke! I can’t - I’m not telling - that’s private!”

“That means a resounding yes,” Anders teased. 

Hawke lifted her hands innocently. “I’m only asking because I’m jealous! I think you’re the only one in this sorry little group who’s getting lucky these days.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at the others. “Merrill? Anders? Any juicy tales? I’m ignoring you, Sebastian, unless your own hand counts.” She tilted her head curiously. “Are Chantry brothers allowed to, you know. Say hello to their little Makers?” 

Aveline wrinkled her nose in disgust, and Sebastian lifted his chin primly. “That’s none of your business,” he said, and Hawke mockingly blew him a kiss. 

Anders turned to Merrill with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t I see you poking around in some noble’s garden the other day, Merrill? A secret rendez-vous, maybe?”

Merrill blinked at him in bewilderment. “Secret… what? No! I was, um, picking flowers. For Varric?”

“They must have gotten lost along the way, Daisy, because I didn’t get them,” Varric drawled.

Fenris smirked as he listened to their banter. Hawke laughed along with the others and prodded the conversation forward with provoking statements, and Fenris was glad to see her looking so genuinely happy. It had been a hard two weeks while the city struggled to recover from the Qunari attack, and he’d noticed her becoming more and more withdrawn as they scurried from Darktown to Hightown trying to fulfill the myriad demands for the Champion’s help. 

After some time, Hawke took a more passive role in the conversation, listening and laughing instead of talking. Her smile was more wistful than cheeky now, and Fenris quietly studied the shifting hint of melancholy under her smile. 

Suddenly she turned to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet,” she remarked. “No snark tonight from my favourite brooding warrior?” 

“Oh,” he said, caught off guard by her attention. “I was simply…” He couldn’t say he was worrying about her. That would invite too much teasing from their insufferably nosy friends. “I was wondering if we should head back to Kirkwall,” he said instead. “It’s… is it getting late?”

Her eyes widened. “Shit, maybe,” she said, and glanced at the sky. “You’re right, we should go.” 

The others started to gather themselves and rise, and Hawke smiled at Fenris. “Handsome _and_ punctual,” she purred. “What would I do without you?” 

“You would be late all the time. Your tardiness would get worse and worse until your days and nights reversed,” he drawled. He pushed himself to his feet, then offered his hand. 

Hawke’s smile widened as she took his outstretched hand. He wrapped his fingers strongly around her own and helped her rise.

Once she was on her feet, she held his fingers for a moment longer. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

He gazed into her clear coppery eyes. They were warm and deep and still just a little bit sad. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. Then he released her hand.

**_-Two-_ **

“Cheers,” Varric said, and clinked his flagon against Hawke’s tumbler and Fenris’s glass. “To the Champion.”

Hawke squinched up her face as though she smelled something bad. “Must you?” she complained. “I hate that bloody title. I’d rather be called the Most Boring Mage in Kirkwall than the Champion.” She took a hearty gulp from her drink.

Fenris subtly pushed the bowl of roasted nuts toward her. She took one and popped it in her mouth, then chewed noisily as she continued to ramble. “Honestly, they make it sound like I’m doing all this interesting stuff on my own, when all of you are with me constantly. I never do any of this stuff by myself. What about you?” She gestured at Fenris. “The Broody Champion of Kirkwall who speaks Qunari. I much prefer the sound of that. Let’s face it, you’re the only reason the Arishok thought I was worth talking to in the first place. Or _you._ ” She pointed accusingly at Varric, then began counting on her fingers. “Kirkwall’s smartest man. Knows everyone. Has a one-of-a-kind crossbow. Why isn’t anyone paying attention to _you?_ ” 

“I am an elf, and he is a dwarf,” Fenris said flatly. 

Hawke stared at him for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Andraste’s tit. It _is_ racism, isn’t it?” She shook her head and sat back in her chair, looking as though she’d had a life-changing revelation. “Racism,” she said wonderingly. “Well, that’s some complete nugshit. We should go set that straight immediately so they’ll all start paying attention to you two instead. Then I can go home and relax.” 

Varric snickered and folded his arms. “Very altruistic of you, Hawke.” 

She grinned at him and lifted her brandy to her lips. “Hey, I never claimed to be an altruist. I mean, I’m no Isabela, but I’m also no Grand Divine What’s-Her-Name.” 

There was a very brief and awkward pause at the mention of the absent pirate. Then Fenris shifted in his seat. “In all fairness, you defeated the Arishok entirely on your own,” he said. “That is a feat worth remembering. An apostate mage acting with the strength of a warrior.”

Varric widened his eyes. “Wow, elf. That’s almost poetic. Can I borrow that phrase?” 

“That was one time!” Hawke interrupted indignantly. “One big fancy fight one time, and that was months ago. And still they’re expecting me to help them with every little thing. ‘Oh Champion, save my daughter from blood mages.’ ‘Oh Champion, save my son from the crazy Templars.’ ‘Oh Champion, make sure the Qunari never ever bother us again.’ I just…” She drained the last of her brandy, then grinned at Fenris and Varric. “Why people think _I_ can keep them safe is beyond me. Has everyone forgotten what a disaster I am? Gorgeous and sexy, sure, but a total disaster.” 

Fenris went still with his glass halfway to his lips. He knew where she was going with this. 

She kicked her feet up on Varric’s table as she continued to talk. “I mean, let’s look at the catalogue of evidence. My sister’s dead. My mother’s dead. My brother’s off with the Templars fighting his own shadow one second and abominations the next. Isabela’s run off to do who-knows-what. And I’m just…” She trailed off, then slid her feet back down to the ground and leaned her elbows on the table, her face suddenly bright and alert. “I have an idea. We should set up cots for Merrill and Anders in Aveline’s office.”

Fenris frowned at the non-sequitur, and Varric raised his eyebrows. “Why?” he asked.

“To keep them safe, obviously!” she chirped. “They’re both going to do something stupid. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones,” she said, with a dramatic lifting of her hands. “I can’t save them from themselves, but Aveline can. It’ll be like daycare!” 

“Or you could send them to the Circle,” Fenris suggested. He knew he shouldn’t say it, but it was begging to be said. 

Varric grimaced as Hawke spun toward Fenris. “Never,” she said, swiftly and vehemently. “That will never happen. My family always stays free.” She stared at him for a moment longer, then smiled slightly. “That’s like a Hawke family motto.” She winked at Varric. “You can quote me on that.” 

Fenris quashed his scathing reply as he studied her lovely face. She was grinning again as she settled back in her chair and teased Varric about the attention he’d been getting from a group of girls who frequented the tavern, but Fenris could see her conflict as clearly as if it was painted on her face. 

He knew she still blamed herself in part for everything that had happened to her family, and it was clear now that she would blame herself if anything adverse became of anyone else in their little group. 

An hour and two more drinks later, Hawke’s eyelids were drooping shut as she described one of Merrill’s more disastrous recipes to them. “... I don’t think she was supposed to include the roots in the pie, but… well, there they were. Extra ruffage, I guess. It still tasted quite good.” She yawned widely, then laid her head on her folded forearms. 

Fenris stood from the table. “Come on, Hawke. I will walk you home.” 

She lifted her head from her arms and smiled lazily at him. “Will you carry me like you did that one time?” 

Fenris looked at her in surprise. He wasn’t aware that she remembered the time he’d carried her to bed; she’d been even drunker than this at the time.

He glanced furtively at Varric, only to find the dwarf smirking knowingly at him. He scowled, then returned his attention to Hawke. “Not here,” he muttered. “Not unless you really can’t walk-”

Hawke rose to her feet, then pretended to fall down. “Oh no, Fenris, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” she said dramatically. “Please, O Strong and Handsome Warrior, lift me up!” 

Varric chuckled. “She’s going to regret this tomorrow. I’m definitely putting it in the book.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “I implore you, _don’t_.” He offered Hawke his hand.

She reached up and grasped his fingers, then stumbled and fell against his chest as she rose to her feet. Fenris hastily grasped her elbow to steady her, then carefully stepped away from the heat of her body. 

She hooked her hand firmly around his arm, then dragged him over to Varric’s side so she could kiss the dwarf on the forehead. “Goodnight, my favourite friend,” she slurred. 

Varric chuckled and patted her on the elbow as she swung away. “‘Night, Champion.”

Hawke groaned. “I take it back. You’re my worst enemy.” She waved lazily to Varric, then pulled Fenris toward the stairs by his entrapped arm. 

He allowed her to drag him along; she needed the equilibrium that his steadier feet could provide. She was half-asleep by the time they made it halfway to Hightown, and Fenris carefully hefted her into his arms. 

She wrapped one arm around his neck, and he tried to ignore the shiver of warmth down his spine when her uninhibited fingers toyed with the hair at the back of his neck. “Thanks, Fenris,” she muttered, then fell unconscious in his arms. 

He swallowed hard. “You’re welcome,” he whispered to her sleeping form. Then he carried her the rest of the way home.

**_-Three-_ **

“Fenris, what’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” he said absently. He turned around to look at Hawke. 

She continued up the steep mountain path until she drew level with him. “You’ve been extra broody today,” she panted. “Is something wrong?”

“Something more than the usual grump, you mean?” Merrill chirped as she pranced past. 

He scowled at the Dalish mage, then turned back to Hawke. In truth, he _was_ preoccupied; he’d finally found some reliable contacts in Qarinus, informants who could fact-check the information that Hadriana had fed to him, and he was anxious at the very thought of hearing back from them. It would be months before he heard a word - his instructions had just left by messenger this morning - but Fenris was already impatient for news.

Hawke didn’t need to know that, however. He didn’t want to tell her about all of this until he had more concrete information. She’d only want to help him, and this was something he had to do himself.

“I am fine,” he assured her. Then he gestured for her to precede him on the path up to Sundermount’s peak.

“You sure?” Hawke said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Especially if it involves a prank. Things have been so boring lately with all the helping and the good deeds.” She raised her eyebrows invitingly. “We could steal someone’s pants. Or replace their hair tonic with depilatory cream, something like that.” 

He smirked. “Tempting as that sounds, I shall decline for now.” He jerked his chin at Merrill’s back. “Best catch up to _her_ before she falls into a rabbit hole.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “On second thought, never mind. Let’s return to Kirkwall.”

Hawke tutted and shoved his arm. “You are horrible,” she informed him, then continued up the path in Merrill’s wake. 

Fenris shrugged unconcernedly, then followed her along the poorly maintained path, picking his way over rubble and broken rocks and slimy puddles. 

Suddenly Hawke tripped, hitting the ground hard on her hands. “Fuck!” she exclaimed. She flexed her ankle and hissed with discomfort, and Fenris crouched at her side. 

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She pursed her lips with annoyance. “Rynne Hawke, the Champion of Beauty and Grace,” she muttered. She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a twisted ankle.”

Fenris rose and offered her his hand. She reached up and took his fingers, then grasped his hand for a moment longer as she whispered a quiet word, and a cool green glow shimmered over her ankle. 

She flexed the ankle experimentally, then smiled up at him. “Thank you, my gallant warrior,” she purred. 

He smirked at her playful tone, then shrugged and released her hand. “I did nothing. You healed yourself.”

Hawke planted her fist on her hip. “Fenris, haven’t you learned anything from those stories you’ve been reading? Nothing heals a girl more quickly than the touch of a big, strong, handsome man.” She laughed as Merrill hurried back down the path to meet them. 

“What’s happened?” she asked. Then she looked between Hawke and Fenris. “Oh Elgar’nan. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Hawke said cheerfully. She winked at Fenris, then stepped over the pit in the ground that had tripped her and continued her way up the mountain.

Merrill giggled.

Fenris frowned at her, alarmed by how smug she looked. “What?” he demanded.

She beamed at him. “You’re in love,” she crooned.

Fenris scowled more deeply. She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t going to give _her_ the satisfaction of hearing it. “I am not,” he lied, then stepped around her and continued in Hawke’s wake. 

Merrill trotted after him. “You keep looking at Hawke with sad puppy eyes every time her back is turned,” she chirped. 

“There are no puppy eyes,” Fenris snarled, but Merrill was undaunted by his wrath.

“It’s all right, you know,” she said, with an annoying degree of calm. “Even you can be happy once in a while. It won’t kill you.” She blinked innocently. “But your face might crack if you smile, so be careful.”

He clenched his jaw, then vaulted up the path to escape her. Merrill was a fool, and she didn’t know anything about him. 

Fenris couldn’t be happy, not yet. He had to be reunited with his sister first. He had to learn everything she could tell him about his past. 

He drew level with Hawke, and she smiled sweetly at him as he joined her. “I’ve been considering the matter, and I really think we should do a prank tonight,” she announced. “Let’s pick on Varric! It’ll have to be something good if we want to get him.” She gazed pleadingly at him. “Please?” 

He studied her beautiful cheeky face, then sighed. “All right, fine. But I bear no responsibility if it goes terribly wrong.”

She grinned wickedly. “Good,” she said with relish. “That means I’ll get all the credit if it goes terribly right.”

He smiled and shook his head as they made their way up the mountain. 

He couldn't be happy, not yet. 

But maybe someday.

**_-Four-_ **

Fenris wandered into Hawke’s foyer, then nodded his thanks to Orana as she directed him upstairs. He continued to ponder his dilemma as he made his way up the stairs.

He needed more coin to pay his sources in Qarinus. Thus far, he’d been paying his contacts with his savings from the jobs he did with Hawke and the others, but it was looking like he’d have to pick up some extra jobs in the evenings during the times when he wasn’t with Hawke.

He was slightly bitter about it. Not about the extra work per se; finding his sister was the first priority, and the extra jobs were necessary to save the coin his informants needed to track her down. 

If he was totally honest, his bitterness stemmed from the fact that the extra jobs would mean less free time to spend with Hawke. 

It was a selfish concern. What really mattered was discovering where his sister was and if she was safe. He saw Hawke every damned day. He wouldn’t suffer if he saw her a bit less frequently.

Besides, it was probably for the best to find a bit of space. His longing for Hawke still made it difficult to be around her at times. It was probably best for him to be apart from her once in a while. Keep his head straight and his mind on his long-term goals. 

And thus it was that he was mildly annoyed when a messenger showed up at his door requesting his presence at the Champion’s mansion. “At your leisure, no rush,” the messenger had said, and Fenris had heard Hawke’s voice in the words. He’d been halfway out the door at the time, planning to go ask around in Lowtown for leads to odd jobs and tasks. Instead, despite his stern and disciplined speeches to himself, here he was at Hawke’s door.

He scowled as he poked his head into her bedroom. “Hawke?” he grunted. 

“You got here so soon! I’m in here,” she called, and Fenris frowned more deeply as he stepped into her bedroom and peered into the lavatory.

Hawke was sitting on a stool in front of the mirror with a razor in her hand, and her chestnut-brown hair was cut bluntly at her shoulders. 

She turned to look at him as he drew close, then laughed. “Oh no. Is it that bad?” she said.

Fenris closed his mouth and shook his head. “Not… bad,” he said, semi-truthfully. “I am simply surprised. Why…?”

She shrugged. “I just wanted a change. I’ve been thinking about cutting it for a few months now. But I got this far,” she waved vaguely at herself, “and then I figured out that I, you know. Don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Fenris folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “And you thought it logical to send a messenger to fetch _me?_ ”

“Yep,” she said pertly. “You cut your own hair, don’t you?”

He nodded, and Hawke smiled. “Good,” she said. “Then you can teach me how to do it.”

He raised his eyebrows, then took a tentative step into the lavatory. “I have never taught anyone to cut their own hair before,” he said slowly. 

“Well, anything you say can’t make this any worse,” she said cheerfully. “I was actually hoping for a haircut something like yours.”

His eyebrows rose even higher. “Like mine?”

“Yes, but shorter at the back and the sides. Can you help?”

He studied her head for a moment, then shrugged helplessly. “I suppose I can try.” 

She beamed at him, and he shot her a half-smile before leaning against the wall behind her and folding his arms. “Start by cutting the lower part at the back. Closer to your neck.” 

Hawke frowned uncertainly, then set the razor down and picked up a linen strip from the vanity and swiftly tied the bulk of her hair into a messy bun at her crown. Then she picked up the razor and reached behind her head, lifting a lock of hair and lowering the razor toward it. “Like this-?”

Fenris hastily reached out and grabbed her hand. “No,” he said. If she cut it there, she would have a bald spot. He carefully adjusted her hands, then released her. “Now cut,” he said. 

She sliced with the razor, and a long dark lock of hair drifted to the floor. Fenris met her eyes in the mirror and nodded. “Go on,” he prompted.

She haphazardly gathered another handful of strands and lowered the razor toward it, and Fenris took her hands again and adjusted them before allowing her to cut. 

Eventually she adjusted her technique to cut the right length of hair, and Fenris leaned back against the wall again. He watched her in silence for some time until the bottom-most layer of hair was done. Then she pulled another layer of hair from her messy bun and started again.

Fenris wordlessly adjusted her fingers before letting her cut the first lock of hair. Once Hawke got into the groove with the second layer, she began to talk. “My mother used to cut my hair,” she said.

Fenris met her eyes in the mirror, but didn’t reply. The anniversary of Leandra’s death had been a week ago. 

Hawke shot his reflection a small half-smile. “I used to wear my hair short, you know. When I was young. But when I got older, she said I should start wearing it long. It was prettier, according to her.” Hawke smirked. “I refused at first. But then it just got easier to grow it out than to listen to her little comments when I asked her to cut it for me.”

Fenris frowned slightly. “‘Little comments’?” he asked.

She huffed dismissively. “It was nothing, really. Just her way of saying she thought that proper ladies should have long hair.” She grinned and raised one mischievous eyebrow at him. “I’m no proper lady. But I couldn’t be bothered to argue about it.”

Fenris was silent for a long moment. When she’d finished cutting the second layer of her hair, he spoke. “Change is good,” he said quietly. “Even if it’s a return to something you used to… um… love.” 

She met his eyes in the mirror. “Exactly,” she said softly. 

Fenris stared at her, arrested by the seriousness of her face and the depth of her eyes. 

He swallowed hard; his mouth was suddenly dry. He nodded his chin at her head. “I believe the next layer will bring you around to the sides of your head. Just, er, continue doing as you have done so far.” 

Hawke nodded obediently, and she cut the third layer in silence as Fenris supervised her work. 

Once she’d finished the layer, she lowered her hands to her lap with a sigh and rolled her neck from side to side. “My arms are getting sore,” she admitted with a rueful smile. 

Fenris debated with himself for a moment, then held out his hand. “I’ll help. If you allow it.”

She stared at him, then smiled. “You’re kidding.”

He frowned and withdrew his hand. “Unless you don’t trust my-”

“No, no,” Hawke protested immediately, “that’s - please, go ahead! It’ll be far better if you do it. I should have asked you from the start.” She handed him the razor, then fluttered her eyelashes coyly at him. “A beautiful man handling my scalp? How could I say no to that?”

He rolled his eyes, and Hawke chuckled as Fenris began to slice her hair with brisk, smooth strokes of the razor. 

It was odd, this. Cutting someone else’s hair. Fenris had never done it before, and his cutting of his own hair had been haphazard at best. It should have been easier to cut someone else’s hair, but Fenris found himself pausing quite a few times to make sure he wasn’t making a total mess of the dark-haired mage’s head. 

During one pause, Hawke spoke again. “You know Isabela’s been gone for a year now?”

Her voice was light and casual, and Fenris grew still as he studied her profile. Her face looked as pleasant as ever.

He licked his lips. “Yes,” he said carefully. 

Hawke was quiet for a long moment as Fenris continued to cut her hair. Then she spoke again. “She’ll be back. I’m sure of it. That tart can’t stay away forever.”

Her tone was confident, but her eyes were locked on his reflection, and Fenris finally met her eye. She wanted reassurance, he knew. She wanted him to tell her that Isabela would come back. That she hadn’t left Kirkwall permanently.

 _People die, and people leave, and that’s life,_ Hawke had once told him. But her pleading gaze on Fenris’s face told a different story. 

She wanted him to tell her that Isabela wouldn’t be another person to leave forever.

He could reassure her. Isabela had told him that she’d return, after all. It wouldn’t be a lie or a stretch of the imagination.

But Fenris wasn’t certain. And Hawke deserved better than uncertainties and half-truths.

He returned his gaze to the razor in his hands. “It’s… hard to say,” he said finally. “She will likely return. But I couldn’t hazard a guess as to when.” He handed her the razor. “You can finish off the front yourself, I assume?”

Hawke nodded, and they were both quiet for a moment while she worked on her bangs. Then she sighed. “She is a flighty bitch, that one,” she said. She smiled wanly at him. 

But Fenris met her gaze seriously. There was one thing he knew for certain. “If Isabela does return, it will be for you,” he told her. 

The corner of her lips quirked briefly in a smile, and she returned her attention to her hair. A short while later, she placed the razor on her vanity and turned on her stool to look up at him. “How do I look?” she asked. She ruffled her now-short hair. 

Her bangs were long and spiky, and they fell flirtatiously over one eyebrow. The short cut accentuated her cheekbones and allowed him to better admire the smooth lines of her neck and jaw. 

It suited her perfectly. Fenris gazed at her with an aching appreciation for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “Beautiful,” he said. “But that is no different than always.” 

She flushed, and Fenris smiled at the pinkness of her cheeks. She rose from the stool and gently punched his shoulder. “Very suave, mister,” she said playfully. 

He bowed his head mockingly, and Hawke chuckled as he led the way from her lavatory back into her bedroom and then out into the hall. 

He made for the stairs, but Hawke stopped him before he could descend. “Fenris.”

He turned to look askance at her, and she smiled. “Thank you,” she said. 

He admired her lovely gamine hair. “You are very welcome,” he said.

**_-Five-_ **

Fenris breathed slowly in through his nose, then exhaled. His eyes were calmly closed, and the Chantry sisters’ chanting was calming as well, but the feeling jumping in his chest was anything but calm.

Varania wasn’t in Qarinus. 

The news had hit him like a punch in the stomach. So much coin he’d spent and so much time finding reliable sources in Qarinus, all just to learn that Varania had gone to Minrathous years ago… 

_My own fault,_ he thought angrily. He should have acted on Hadriana’s information earlier. If he had, he would have found Varania by now. But like an idiot, he’d done nothing for years, and she’d moved on. 

_Of course she did, because that’s what normal people do,_ he thought, with a fresh surge of fury at himself. As a consequence, he was back to square one.

He took another deep, calming breath. Then he was distracted by a soft snuffling laugh to his left. 

He opened his eyes and frowned at Hawke, who was sitting on the pew beside him. “Quiet,” he muttered. 

She bit her lip and nodded silently, then slowly dipped her hand into her bag of sunflower seeds. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows at her, and she lifted her shoulders innocently. “What?” she mouthed silently. She carefully pulled her hand out of the bag of seeds.

Fenris watched as she lifted one seed and placed it delicately on the tip of her tongue. He tore his eyes away from her mouth, then gave her an exasperated look. 

She smiled impishly, then jerked her chin to the left. Sebastian was standing there, and from the tension in his shoulders, Fenris could tell that Hawke had already hit him with at least one sunflower seed shell. 

Fenris shot her a warning look. “Just be quiet,” he mouthed to her, and she nodded. 

He closed his eyes again and inhaled, then reminded himself that the time he’d spent looking into Qarinus was not a total loss. One of his contacts was a merchant who travelled from Qarinus to Minrathous, so he could be relied upon again. And Fenris knew quite a few people in Minrathous, despite his lowly stature there. He’d been… unique, after all, and not easily forgotten. But that also made it difficult to stay incognito while making his inquiries. The last thing he wanted was for Danarius to interfere with his investigations and - Maker forbid - harm his sister before he could get her safely here.

Another soft snicker interrupted his thoughts, and Fenris opened his eyes and scowled. “Hawke, shut up,” he muttered. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, but her face looked anything but sorry. “It’s just - please, Fenris, I know you’re trying to find peace, but you have to see this. You won’t regret it, I promise.” She reached for her bag of seeds again. 

Fenris grabbed her hand. “Stop. You’re making too much noise. I cannot… think.”

She blinked at him with her bright bronze eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Just watch this one time. Then I’ll leave if you want me to.” 

He pursed his lips, then released her hand. “Fine. Just once,” he whispered severely. 

She grinned, then pulled a seed from her bag and placed it on the tip of her tongue. She carefully chewed the seed with her front teeth, then shot a quick glance at Fenris. 

He shrugged irritably, and Hawke turned back to face Sebastian. Then she spat the sunflower seed shell at him.

Her aim was unnervingly accurate: the shell hit him right on the back of the neck, and he twitched. 

Instantly Fenris understood why she was laughing so much. It was the twitch. Sebastian was usually so calm and composed, but the twitch was completely erratic. To make the situation even more ludicrous, Sebastian was clearly trying to maintain his usual composure, but his shoulders were steadily creeping up toward his ears.

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek, but the words escaped him before he could stop himself. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered. 

Hawke grinned at his long-unused pet phrase, an instantaneous and blinding expression of pure mischievous joy, and Fenris smiled helplessly back at her, unable to resist the lure of her uninhibited grin. 

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she laughed silently, then she sighed happily. “All right, I’ll go now,” she whispered. “Leave you to your prayers and all.” 

She shifted as though to rise, but Fenris waved her back. “No,” he said softly. “It’s fine. Stay.”

She tilted her head, a tiny half-smile on her lips. “Are you sure? I’m being a disgusting brat, I know. You didn’t come here for this.”

Fenris shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, and he meant it. In truth, he was actually feeling calmer now.

Hawke smiled and shrugged, and they both relaxed back on the pew. 

After a moment of peaceful silence, Fenris raised one eyebrow at her. “Give me one of those seeds,” he said.

She grinned.

**_-One-_ **

Fenris slipped through the Chantry doors and strode swiftly toward the rear of the grand building. He had one last errand to run after this, and then he was quite eager to find something to eat; the foolish dragonling hunt he’d been on that morning had dragged on longer than expected, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

He headed up the left-hand staircase, intent on meeting the Chantry brother who’d ominously requested ‘a delivery-man who looks like he can handle himself’. But when he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped short. 

_Hawke?_ She was standing toward the back of the Chantry near the votive candle rack, and Fenris frowned, distracted from his task by the sight of her. It was odd for her to be here, and even odder to see her alone. 

He approached her tentatively. When he was a few feet away, she turned and smiled. “Fenris!” she said happily.

He nodded a greeting. “What brings you here? Visiting Sebastian?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “You just missed Carver,” she said. “I was about to leave myself. We just lit one of these candle things for Mother. Carver thought she’d like it. I’m of the mind she’d have preferred a silver candelabra, but that’s just me.” She shrugged and smiled, but her eyes were downcast. 

Suddenly Fenris remembered: it was two years today since Leandra had died. 

He winced. “I… apologize. I did not remember-”

Hawke waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, don’t apologize! Why would you remember? I wish I could forget sometimes. Coming here is such a bore.” She laughed lightly, then met his eyes. “What are you up to? A little prayer? A little seed-spitting?” She waggled her eyebrows. 

Fenris smirked and shook his head. “Not today. I’m… delivering something,” he said vaguely. Hawke knew he’d been doing extra work in his spare time, but he hadn’t told her just how much. If she knew how much coin he needed to save, she would offer him money and she would want to know why he needed it, and Fenris was trying heartily to avoid both of those scenarios. For now, he’d allowed her to think he was trying to pay off some old gambling debts to the regulars at the Hanged Man.

Her face lit up with mischief. “Delivering _something?_ ” she asked. “What something?”

He bit back a smile. He could practically see the prank unfolding behind her eyes. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I will be taking it to the Gallows.”

If possible, her face lit up even more. “Oh my,” she drawled. “I do hope it’s something dirty. Especially since it’ll be _you_ carrying it.” She lifted her eyes dreamily to the ceiling. “Handsome angry elf smuggles erotica from the Chantry to the Gallows. It’s like the premise for an amazing story.” She snickered.

Fenris shook his head in exasperation. “For my sake, I hope it is not that.” 

She snickered again, then elbowed him playfully. “If it is erotica, make sure you say a loud ‘hello’ to Carver when you drop it off. That’ll be sure to make him some friends.”

Fenris huffed in acknowledgement. Then he gestured vaguely at the votive candles. “Was Carver, er…” He trailed off awkwardly, uncertain how to ask _was Carver an asshole today_ without it sounding extremely rude. 

Fortunately, Hawke seemed to fill in his meaning. “He’s fine,” she said breezily. “He didn’t even make any thinly veiled comments about mages today! It was a nice change of pace.” She shot him a wry look. “He took off like a flock of pigeons when I made a joke, though. Too bad Bethany and I got all the humour genes in the family.” 

Fenris glanced pointedly at the enormous sculpture of Andraste that stood in pride of place near the pulpit. “Was the joke about Andraste’s ample bosom?” he drawled. 

Hawke’s eyes widened comically. “How did you guess?”

Fenris couldn’t help himself. He chuckled and folded his arms. “You’re insufferable.”

She sighed happily. “Thank you, thank you. I try.” 

They smiled at each other for a moment, then Fenris forced his gaze back to the gentle flickering of the candles before them. He should really get moving and meet his Chantry contact, but he was reluctant to leave her side. 

Then Hawke spoke. “Do you think I’ll have to come here every year to do this? Light a candle and remember her, I mean?” 

Fenris looked at her. Her eyes were on the votives, and she was toying idly with her fingers.

When he didn’t reply, Hawke went on. “It’s not as though we can ever forget that she’s dead. Her or Father. Or Bethany.” She sighed heavily, then ran a hand through her short hair. Then she lifted her chin and smiled brightly at him. “I think we should have a party once a year to celebrate all of them. Not a soppy sad thing with the dirges and the wailing. A proper party to celebrate what they were like when they were alive.” 

Her gaze was questioning, but Fenris could only shrug helplessly. He didn’t know the protocol for dealing with the death of a loved one. The only near-death he’d ever suffered was Hawke’s, and if she had died after the duel with the Arishok, Fenris certainly wouldn’t have felt like celebrating.

“It sounds… like an idea,” he said lamely. 

Hawke grinned at his lackluster response. “You’d have a good time,” she insisted. “You’re fun at parties. You’re better at jokes than I am when you’ve had a few drinks.” Then she sighed and turned back to the votives. “Ah, who knows. I’ll think on it. I’m pretty sure I would never see Carver again if we didn’t both keep coming here for this.” 

Fenris studied her seriously for a long moment. She was smiling still, smiling as she always was, but Fenris knew the pain that lived beneath the mask of her smile.

He thought hard for a moment. Then he slowly reached out and took her hand. He slid his fingers along her palm, then carefully interlaced his fingers with hers. 

Her hand was cold. Fenris squeezed it gently, then took a deep breath in through his nose and lifted his gaze to her face. 

Her eyes were wide, impossibly wide and clear and brilliant. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then she smiled and squeezed his hand. “Be careful with this,” she whispered. “You might give a girl ideas.” 

He didn’t smile. “Hawke,” he said, “you are…” 

_Everything,_ he thought. She was everything, pure and simple. She was the humour he’d been unable to find in the world. She was the mage who was both strong enough to fight with him and strong enough to resist the insidious lure of power. She was the only person he’d trusted to see his naked skin and to see beyond it, and she was the woman he hoped to trust again someday with his bare body. 

_Hope._ She was hope and sadness and loyalty and vivacity and pain, and Fenris loved her more than he could say. 

“You are worth standing beside,” he said, finally and truthfully. “It is my honour to be here at your side.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was all he could offer her until he was ready. 

Her smile broadened, and she squeezed his hand again. “Right back at you,” she said softly.

He smiled. Then, very reluctantly, he released her hand. “I must make this delivery,” he said. “But… if you are interested… I could summon the others when I am done. We could have a late-night party.” He smirked wryly. “I’ll even fetch Anders and Merrill, if you insist on it.”

Her smile broadened even further, and she finally turned away from the votive candle rack. “That sounds perfect,” she said. She squeezed his arm gently. “Thank you, Fenris. Really.”

Fenris nodded, then forced himself to walk away and meet the contact for this blasted delivery job. He forced himself to think about the job at hand, and about the grumbling in his stomach.

He forced himself to think about anything except Hawke.

 _Soon,_ he reassured himself. His savings were accruing, and in another month or two he would have enough to pay for Varania to journey here and meet him, once his informants finally tracked her down. 

When Varania was safe, and when Fenris knew everything about his past, he would be able to tell Hawke all the things he felt - all the things kept secret and scribbled on the scraps of parchment shoved under his bed. 

When Fenris was whole, he would tell Hawke everything. And he would never have to walk away from her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this odd little fic structure! Let me know what you think.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for those who want to stop by!


	14. Squeaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Prompt fill for @contreparry on Tumblr. The prompt was: "I can't sleep, can I sleep here?"
> 
> This prompt just screamed for some pre-reunion FenHawke, so it is written out of order/I am backtracking a bit - I hope it's not too confusing for me to shove it into this fic in the place where it chronologically belongs!

Crickets, croaking frogs, and the sluggish slap of the ocean against the cliffs.

Fenris breathed quietly into the chilly air inside his tent. The Wounded Coast might be dangerous, but Fenris quite liked the music of the night out here in the wilds. It was a bittersweet reminder of Seheron. 

He lay quietly in his bedroll enjoying the chirp and creak of nature. Just as he was about to drop into sleep, another sound infiltrated his waning consciousness.

It was a faint whisper of a voice. “Fenris.”

He sighed. Then he heard the whisper again. “Hey, Fenris. Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he drawled softly. He propped himself up on his elbows and shot a long-suffering look toward the mouth of his tent, where Hawke was kneeling. “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered. “Can I sleep here?”

He pursed his lips. Every instinct in his body wanted to say _yes_ , but he stopped himself. He couldn’t let her in, not yet. 

Ever since he’d received Varania’s letter confirming the date of her departure for Kirkwall, he’d felt as though he was standing on the edge of a sharp precipice: his unknown future on one side, and the safety of his staid and static present on the other. And standing along with him on the edge of this metaphorical cliff was Hawke. 

Fenris had to know about his past before he could confess his unspoken love for Hawke. He couldn’t risk a fuck-up like the first time they’d been together; he needed to be free and whole before offering himself to her a second time. He hoped his sister’s testimony would cleanse his past and help him move forward with his life, but the prospect of plunging into that unknown abyss was… 

Well. Suffice it to say that Fenris was doing everything in his power to stay focused on the present and on what he _could_ control. And his desire for Hawke could only be controlled with some distance between them. Being squeezed into this one-person tent with her, lying only inches apart… It was out of the question. 

“What happened to the tent you were meant to share with Aveline?” he asked. 

Hawke _tsk_ ed. “She’s sharpening her sword right outside the tent while she’s sitting guard,” she complained. “I can’t sleep with that noise in my ear. It puts my teeth on edge. And before you ask, I already tried Sebastian’s tent.”

Despite himself, Fenris smirked. “And what did he say?” 

She shrugged casually. “He kicked me out when I asked if it was an Andraste figurine in his pocket or if he was just happy to see me.”

Fenris chuckled, and Hawke shot him a hopeful little half smile. She shuffled slightly further into the tent. “So? Do you have space for a roommate? Or a tent-mate, as it were? I’ll keep my grabby hands to themselves, I promise.” She winked at him. 

He tilted his head chidingly at her. He really should say no. It was not a good idea for them to stay in this tent together. But her eyes were so wide and hopeful, and the longer Fenris looked at her, the more he noticed the slight hunch to her shoulders and the vulnerable tilt of her eyebrows… 

_And Merrill accuses me of puppy eyes,_ he thought. He sighed loudly. “Fine,” he said. “Come in.” He sat up and began shuffling out of his bedroll. 

Hawke crawled into the tent. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you my bedroll,” he said. He slid his legs free and waved at the abandoned bedroll with ill grace. “Get in.”

“Oh - Fenris, no, I didn’t mean to kick you out of your bed!” It was dark in the tent, but Fenris’s keen eyes could still detect the sudden flushing of her cheeks as she continued to babble. “I can sleep beside you, I don’t need blankets or anything, I’ve got this nice padded coat to keep me warm and it’s not that cold-” 

“Hawke,” Fenris interrupted quietly, “shut up and get in the bedroll. I wasn’t tired anyway.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “You were asleep when I interrupted you like the rude tart that I am.”

“I wasn’t quite asleep,” he said. “But I won’t be able to sleep anyway with-” He broke off, and his ears went hot. He’d almost admitted that he wouldn’t be able to sleep with her maddeningly tempting body lying right there next to him.

She frowned in confusion, and he quickly found another retort to mask his near-slip. “I won’t be able to sleep with your squeaking,” he said. 

Her jaw dropped. “Squeaking?” she exclaimed. “I don’t squeak in my sleep!”

“You do,” he said flatly. “Like a small nuglet. Ask the others.” 

A slow smile crept over her face. “You’re lying.”

He folded his arms. “I’m not. Ask Merrill when we get back to the city. _She_ thinks it is adorable.” He curled his lip as he spoke; no need to tell Hawke that he thought it was adorable too. 

Hawke stared at him for a moment longer, then burst into laughter. 

“Hawke! Be quiet,” Aveline snapped from the next tent over.

“Sorry,” Hawke whispered loudly, then covered her mouth as her shoulders continued to shake with laughter, and Fenris could feel his own face creasing into a smile at her barely-bridled mirth.

She sighed happily. “All right, well, I’d better commence the symphony of squeaking then. If you’re certain you don’t mind me stealing your bed.”

He waved at the bedroll again. “I am certain. Get some sleep.”

She crawled over to his bedroll and pulled off her boots and socks, then slid into the bedding. “Ooh, still warm,” she commented. “Broody elf body heat. My favourite kind of heat.” She smiled salaciously at him, then pulled the blanket up until she was almost entirely cocooned. 

He grunted at her flirtatious remark and forced himself to look away from her. It seemed entirely unfair that she could be so adorable and infuriating and appealing at once. 

He poked around in his satchel until he found the book he’d brought with him, then settled himself cross-legged near the tent entrance and opened his book to the spot where he’d left off the night before. 

Hawke’s quiet voice drifted over from the bedroll. “It’s too dark for reading,” she said. “You’ll ruin your eyes.”

“My eyes are better than yours,” he muttered. “It’s not too dark for me.”

“Not fair,” she replied. “I wish I could read in the dark.”

Fenris idly turned the page. “Perhaps we should trade. You can have my superior night vision, and I’ll take the higher status and the safety from random acts of violence that accompanies your rounded ears. Does that sound fair to you?”

“All right, goodnight Fenris!” she chirped, and Fenris huffed in amusement. He listened as she shuffled about in the bedroll for a bit, and then silence fell in the tent. 

Fenris read quietly by the light of the moon for some time. Then he heard a high-pitched little squeak. 

He smirked to himself. _And so it begins,_ he thought. He turned the page and continued to read.

Hawke squeaked again, and this time the squeak was accompanied by a jerk of her foot.

He instinctively looked up at the movement, then frowned; Hawke’s slumbering face was twisted into an expression of pain.

He set the book aside and crept over to her side. “Hawke,” he whispered. 

To his alarm, she flinched. Her eyes popped open to rove wildly around the tent before fixing on his face. She released a heavy breath, then smiled. “Fennecs,” she said. 

He raised one eyebrow. Perhaps he’d misheard. “What?”

“Fennecs,” she repeated. “Fuzzy little fuckers have sharp teeth.” Her eyes were already drifting shut again. She slowly pulled her arm out of the bedroll and reached for his hand. 

Fenris tensed for a moment, then forced himself to relax as her fingers slid over his palm. By the time he curled his fingers over her smaller ones, she was fast asleep again.

He studied the calm contentment in her sleeping face. _Fennecs,_ he thought with a throb of fondness. Such an odd thing to dream about, but he supposed that was the nature of dreams. And yet… 

He gazed at her for a moment longer, then slowly swept his thumb across her knuckles. Perhaps he and the others shouldn’t tease her anymore for squeaking in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for those who wish to come and fangirl about Fenris with me!


	15. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris fantasizes about Hawke. NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in early Act III. Relevant (but not necessary) pre-reading is [Standing Still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688122), i.e. the Arishok duel at the end of Act II.

Mornings were the most blissful and torturous part of Fenris’s day.

He cracked his eyes open every morning and found Hawke’s crimson scarf on his wrist. Half-awake and bleary, unfocused and undefended, his eyes would latch onto the scarlet scrap of fabric, and he would think of her. 

Her barking laugh, her slow and teasing smile, the smooth lifting of her hips to meet his mouth: his treacherous mind would conjure these images, and he’d float in them for a few long seconds before reason and discipline would creep back in to remind him that these imaginings weren’t enough. 

The wistful heated memories weren’t enough. Nothing would be enough until he was with her and holding her, wrapped completely inside the heated depths of her. And he couldn’t have that until he knew himself, until he was rinsed clean and fortified with the knowledge of who he’d been. When he was shored up and strong, he’d go to Hawke and call in the promise she’d tied around his wrist so many years ago. But until that time came, nothing would be enough.

On some mornings, however, Fenris couldn’t resist the thoughts as they ran rampant across the half-dreaming landscape of his mind. 

Today was one of those mornings. 

This morning, Fenris’s dreams were maddeningly vivid. The picture that swayed through his mind was abstract but so incredibly clear: hands and knees, the curve of her tattooed back, the long dark spikes of her bangs falling across her face as she moved against an indistinct landscape of softness and colour. He couldn’t see himself in the dream, but he knew he was there; he was there, he was present, and he only knew it by the strength of the _feeling_ in his body. 

Dream-Hawke moved, long slender fingers and a turning of the head, abstract shades of gold and chestnut and copper, and Fenris _felt_ her. She moved, not against him but _for_ him, and the urgency rose unstoppably through his abdomen and his thighs, making him rise in tandem. 

The images spun through his unconscious mind like paintings pasted on the insides of his eyelids, equal parts memory and fantasy, and the buzzing heat between his legs was so… good. Good, it was good, she’d been… so damned exquisite. And that was what he felt while hopelessly mired in this beautifully debauched dream. 

When the unforgiving light of day pierced through the cracks in the moth-eaten curtains, Fenris scowled and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. But it was too late. His sleep-laced imaginings were dissipating already, sinking back into the Fade from whence they’d come. 

But the lingering thrumming of want remained. The pleasure of his dream had transformed into frustration in the waking world, making his morning steel more uncomfortable than usual.

Fenris groaned in dismay and stretched, then reached down and roughly adjusted himself. It was annoyance that spurred the impatient grab, an attempt to release a bit of his tension and to cool his own eagerness so he could get up and get on with the day, but annoyance quickly became ardour when another intrusive thought of Hawke broke across his mind. 

Her parted lips. That was all he imagined: her vibrant raspberry-coloured lips, slightly open in anticipation of… a multitude of tempting things. It was such a small thing to fantasize about, but it was enough for Fenris to tighten his fist around his shaft and squeeze. 

A bolt of pleasure shot through his abdomen, and he gasped and jerked as the daydream pulsed more vividly in his mind: her lips opening slightly wider as he brushed his thumb across them, priming them for something more. 

Fenris stroked his cock slowly, memory and fantasy moving just as slowly through his mind. Her lips opening wider, his hand on her chin and guiding her close…

He groaned again and flexed his hips up from the mattress, pushing the length of his shaft through the grip of his palm as he imagined his cock sliding through her lips. 

He coaxed himself with a squeezing stroke, sliding his hand up and down a little faster now as the thought of her surged more insistently in his imagination. He breathed hard, pumping his hips up toward his hand while imagining Hawke’s mouth instead: the tightness of her lips, the heat of her mouth and the stroking of her tongue, _fasta vass_ , he wanted… 

Sweat beaded on his forehead and collected on his neck, and Fenris briefly interrupted his brisk tugging to drag his long-sleeved sleep shirt over his head. Impatiently he threw the shirt aside, then he rolled over onto his belly, forehead pressed to his wrist as he reached between his legs again to grab his cock. 

Fast and firm now, he stroked his fist along his length, and his fevered mind continued to grace him with tantalizing images both real and imagined: the sinuous sinking of Hawke’s hips as she stripped for him, then her own hand carefully caressing her nipple; the shining slickness between her legs as she leaned forward and showed herself off to him, and the heady flavour of that slickness as he spread her wide and lifted her scented heat toward his mouth.

He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as every pull of his palm brought his pleasure closer. He was helpless against the incessant thoughts of her, memories and desires and longing pounding at his brain and pounding through his blood. The pulsing buzz of imminent climax surged toward him, roaring through him like an unstoppable wild animal, and Fenris thrust his hips toward his hand more desperately still.

Then another image flashed across his mind: Hawke’s smiling lips laughing against his own, her forehead pressed to his and her hands cradling his neck so tenderly -

Fenris choked out a gasp and bit the scarf on his wrist as he came. He shuddered fitfully, rapture rendering him lightheaded as he spilled his release on the mattress. 

Hawke’s heated smile and her gentle chuckle drifted through his dizzied mind, and he bit his wrist even harder, teeth clenching tight until the residual shocks of his orgasm finally receded. 

Fenris relaxed and lifted his mouth from his wrist, then finally opened his eyes. 

Hawke’s crimson scarf filled his vision. The red was faded now from multiple years of everyday wear, but to Fenris’s eyes, it was just as vivid as the day she’d first wrapped it around his wrist. 

Fenris lay in his bed for some time, listening to his own breathing and gazing unseeingly at the shifting of sun and shadow outside the windows. At the back of his mind, he knew he should rise; it wasn’t like him to linger, and Hawke would likely be along any minute to drag him out for the day’s activities.

_Hawke._ Dark tufts of her hair damp with sweat, her arching neck and her hardened nipples - 

Fenris groaned and shoved his face into the pillow. Then he heard the knock at the door.

He froze. Another loud knock, then her blasted beloved voice calling through the door. “Good morning, sunshine! Come on, let’s get moving, we’ve got to meet that caravan in about twenty minutes and I bet Merrill is running late-”

He rolled out of bed and hastily adjusted his loose trousers, making sure there was no evidence of the morning’s activity on his person. Bad-temperedly he strode toward the door, mentally cursing himself for his self-indulgence, then cursing Hawke for her selective punctuality - _the only time she’s ever on time is when she comes to fetch me_ , he thought - then cursing himself again for cursing her when all he really wanted was to pour praises in her ear… 

He wrenched open the door and scowled as he stood back to let her in. “I’m not ready,” he grunted. “You can come in and wait.” 

She didn’t reply, and she didn’t move, and Fenris finally raised his eyes to her face at her uncharacteristic silence. 

She was staring at him. Of course she was, because he’d answered the door half-naked.

Fenris hunched his shoulders and hastily stepped behind the door before anyone outside could see. “Come inside,” he urged. 

Hawke slowly stepped inside, and Fenris shoved the door shut behind her, then folded his arms defensively. “I, er. I am sorry,” he muttered. “I’m, um, delayed this morning.” 

“Maker’s balls, never apologize for this,” Hawke said with a tiny smirk. “You should open the door every morning this way. Actually, scratch that, I would never get anything done if you did.”

Fenris bit his tongue. Her words were flirtatious and jocular as always, but the tone of her voice… 

It was a sultry and slightly breathless tone, and although he’d only heard her sound like this once before, he’d replayed it in his mind too many times to count. 

He couldn’t reply. He stood frozen, arms folded as her eyes darted over his bare chest, then up to his face, and then he couldn’t breathe. 

The look on her face. It was the same expression that ran through his dreaming mind, that invaded his waking imagination, that had driven his hungry and hedonistic rush less than an hour ago. 

She was so exquisitely _obvious_. The intensity of her desire was transparently clear in her face, and in this singular moment, Fenris wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his miserable life. The longing was an almost tangible thing, a force as furious as the lyrium that thrummed beneath his skin, filling him with a surging heat that slammed against his chest and begged for release.

But he wasn’t ready. There were… things he needed to know, and… he couldn't make a mistake again like he had done before. He couldn’t rush into this, mindless and unthinking like he had before.

Things were already in motion. It had taken years, blasted years of hunting and asking around and sneaking coin to spies and servants alike. Finally, after months of agonizing waiting, Varania had written him back, saying she agreed to come to Kirkwall. 

Soon he would see his sister. He would know his family, and he would know _everything,_ and… 

And he had to get it right this time. He couldn’t have Hawke right now, not even if his body was screaming like a demon to meet the need that was blazing in her face. He couldn’t offer himself to her until he knew exactly what she’d be getting. Not yet, not like this, he wasn’t ready -

He took a step away from her at the same time as she took a step away from him.

“I must get dressed-”

“Why don’t I wait outside-”

She grinned at him, her cheeks flushing pink, then backed away and reached for the door. “I’ll, um, just come out when you’re ready,” she stammered.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Fenris crouched on the floor and gripped his hair in his fists. It was torture, this waiting, all of it, the blasted _years_ of it. Finally the threads of his investigations were coming together, and he should be glad. All the digging he’d done and the coin he’d saved to get Varania here: it was finally paying off. 

Fenris should be glad or excited. Maybe even hopeful.

But all he felt was impatience. He was sick of waiting, waiting for information and answers and the day that Varania’s ship would leave the Imperium and bring her here. Why was it that the moment when everything was almost at hand was also the hardest one to tolerate?

_Hard_ being the operative word here. 

He rose slowly to his feet and shifted uncomfortably, trying to lessen the pressure of his trousers on his overeager cock. Then he trudged back to his bedroom to change. 

As he dragged on his armour, he clung to the one comforting thought he could find: Hawke’s face as she gaped at his half-bared body. 

At least Fenris wasn’t suffering alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that chronologically follows this one is a separate oneshot called [Never Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778491). Sorry for making you jump around; I was disorganized when I started writing this ship! >_<
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone feels like squealing about the Handsome Broody One™ with me. xoxo


	16. Talk To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately after [Never Alone,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778491) i.e. the big reunion scene where Fen and Hawke finally get back together. 
> 
> NSFW smut. Literally just fluffy fluff and smut. ^_^

Hawke yawned loudly, then rolled toward Fenris and smoothed her palm over his chest. “Fenris, can you scratch my back?”

He hummed a lazy affirmative. Without opening his eyes, he drifted his fingers over her naked skin. “Where does it itch?”

“It doesn’t,” she replied.

His hand stilled. “Then why am I scratching your back, pray tell?” he drawled.

She wiggled against him and slid her bare leg between his equally naked thighs. “Because it feels nice. Come on, I’ll scratch yours if you scratch mine.”

He huffed. “I did not ask you to scratch my back,” he said, but began gently running his nails along her spine anyway.

“That’s just because you haven’t had anyone scratch your back before,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’ll see. You’ll like it.” She sighed happily, then twisted one shoulder. “Ahh, yes. That’s a good spot.” 

He chuckled softly as he continued to scratch the indicated spot. “You’re spoiled.” 

She shifted slightly higher on his body and traced the tip of his ear with her tongue. “And whose fault is that?” she whispered. Her voice was a warm breeze against his ear, and a ripple of heat ran down the back of his neck at the sultry tone of her voice. 

He pretended to ignore the buzzing interest in his groin. “You’re right,” he said blandly. “I should stop, then. I would not want to spoil you further.” He let his hand fall limp beside her, even though he’d been enjoying the feel of her skin.

She tutted in annoyance, then poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be stingy with those talented fingers,” she scolded. “Come on, give a girl a scratch.”

He bit back a grin as he swatted her hand away. “Stop. You do not need to be scratched. You are not a mabari.” 

She tutted in mock offense. “You would rather scratch a mabari than scratch me?” she exclaimed. “Should I call Toby in here? See how much you like cuddling up to a big hairy hound instead of me? I’ll warn you, he’s a blanket hog. There’s a reason he’s not allowed on the bed.” 

She rolled away from him and pushed herself upright, but Fenris grabbed her arm before she could leave the bed. “All right, no need to be hasty,” he grumbled. “I’ll scratch your damned back.”

She chuckled, then settled herself on his chest again. She rested her chin on her folded forearms and batted her eyelashes at him. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charms,” she purred.

He snorted and carefully ran his nails over her shoulder blade. “Charm. Is that what you call this?” 

“I would, in fact,” she said pertly. “Why, what would you call it?”

He raised one eyebrow. “You don’t want to know what I would call it.” He slid his hand down her back and pinched her bum.

She squealed and poked him in the ribs in retaliation, and he flinched and grabbed her hand. “Don’t poke,” he warned. “Or I shall stop scratching.” 

She groaned, then folded her arms under her chin again. “Unfair,” she announced. 

“Says the woman who has me trapped while demanding to be petted,” he murmured. He closed his eyes contentedly as he ran his nails along her velvety back. 

She chuckled softly, and her hair tickled his chest as she rested her ear against his chest. “Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself. Are you happy?” 

“Very,” he said, and he felt her cheek lifting in a smile against his chest.

They lay together in a warm silence, and Fenris simply enjoyed the comforting weight of her body as she breathed. A minute later, her sleepy voice reached his ears. “This is so nice.” 

“Mm.” He smiled and drifted his fingers along the back of her neck. He’d been thinking the same thing. He and Hawke had spent the whole night trying to catch up on the years they’d lost, and they’d segued so swiftly into this comfortable cocoon of closeness that it almost seemed too good to be real. He had to keep reminding himself that the disaster with Varania had been just this morning.

He toyed idly with a strand of Hawke’s short dark hair. “It feels… strangely familiar,” he mused. “Being together like this. It is as though we have done this for years.” 

“I know what you mean,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s because I spent so much time thinking about it. Now it’s like living in a dream.” She stretched happily against his body. “A perfect, sexy dream.” 

“You spent a lot of time thinking about this, did you?” he teased gently. In truth, he was happy to hear her say it. Hawke had never hidden her feelings for him, but it was still nice to hear her confirmation that he hadn’t been pining alone.

She lifted herself slightly to look at him. “Of course I did!” she said. “I thought about this every single day. Didn’t _you?_ ” Fenris watched fondly as her cheeks began to pinken. “Oh balls,” she groaned, then buried her face in his chest. “Tell me I’m not the only one who fantasized about us being together.” 

He grinned and stroked her hair. “So now it is not just thinking, but fantasizing?” 

He snickered as she pinched his side. “Don’t make fun of me!” she complained. “I’m a desperate romantic, all right? _And_ I was horny. All the time. Every time you were near.”

Fenris laughed harder at her bluntness, then tilted her chin up to face him. “I am not making fun,” he assured her. “In fact, I am glad you’ve said this. I fantasized about you too.” 

Her bronze eyes were wide and endearingly hopeful. “You did?”

“Of course,” he said. He closed his eyes and folded his free arm behind his head as he resumed his lazy scratching of her back. “I carry many fond daydreams about you, Hawke.” 

She was unusually quiet, and finally Fenris opened his eyes to find her looking at him with a very goofy grin. He tilted his head curiously. “What?”

She shook her head slightly. “It’s just, all the things you’re saying…” She shrugged helplessly, her face still wreathed in a smile. “I imagined a lot of things, but I didn’t imagine you talking like this. You’re usually… you don’t usually… I mean, I love it,” she blurted. “Drown me in praise and sweet words. I’ll happily take them.” She laughed nervously. “It really is like a dream or something. We should have an argument to prove this is real life.” She grinned and lowered her eyes shyly, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment. 

Fenris’s amusement faded as he realized she was right. He had been painfully in love with her for years, but Hawke had no way of knowing that - not when he’d constantly been lashing out at her and letting his true feelings fester in the pile of scribbled pages under his bed. 

He tenderly smoothed her spiky bangs back from her eye. “There are many things I would say to you, now that I am free to say them,” he told her softly. “Shall I tell you one of my daydreams?”

A slow smile lifted her lips. “Really? Is it story time with Fenris?” 

He smirked. “If you insist on calling it that, then yes.” He tucked his arm behind his head again. “Well, to start, I would lay in my bed at night and imagine you lying here. I would imagine what it would be like to lie beside you as you fell asleep.” 

She smiled. “Well, that’s a daydream we can make real,” she said softly. She rolled off of his chest and settled beside him on her back, tucking one of her arms under her head to mirror his relaxed pose. 

He turned his head and gave her a sardonic look. “Will you be falling asleep on me now?”

“Not a chance,” she replied. She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, smooth talker, tell me more of your daydreams.” 

He huffed in amusement, then rolled onto his side to face her. “I didn’t know what you wore to sleep, so I always imagined you sleeping naked,” he said. He tilted his head. “Do you sleep naked?”

She shook her head. “Underpants,” she said. “Flannel breeches if it’s cold.”

Fenris nodded. “Ah. Well, I prefer my daydreams, then.”

She grinned and poked him again with her elbow. “Ooh, saucy. I like that,” she purred. She stretched slightly, arching her back and drawing his attention to her dusky nipples, then she relaxed into the sheets and threw him a cheeky smirk. “So I’m naked and lying in bed in this daydream of yours,” she prompted. “Then what?”

Fenris tore his eyes away from her breasts and back to her face. “Um,” he said distractedly. “I, um, I liked to think about you stretching. Like you did just now, but… more.”

She bit her lower lip coyly, then slowly raised both her arms overhead and stretched languorously. The slow, wavelike movement rippled across her body from fingertips to toes, and Fenris stared unabashedly at the lifting of her breasts and the undulating rise of her hips. 

“Like this?” she asked. 

He nodded eagerly, not bothering this time to tear his greedy gaze away from her naked body. 

Hawke smiled. “Then what?” she whispered. “What did you think about next?”

Fenris returned his gaze to her face. Her bronze stare was bold and brazen, and his simmering lust trebled at the heated invitation in her face. 

He placed his hand on her ribs just beneath her right breast, smiling as her breath hitched in her throat. “I thought about these lovely breasts,” he purred. “I would imagine burying my face between them…”

He trailed off as her palm slid over her left breast. She stroked her nipple with her thumb, bringing the dusky peak to a point. “And then?” she breathed. “What would you think about then?” 

Fenris swallowed hard. He was jealous of her thumb. _He_ wanted to be the one bringing her nipples to attention. He leaned toward her, eager to taste her tempting flesh, but she stopped him with her fingers on his chin.

“Wait,” she panted. “I want you to keep talking. Tell me… tell me more of your daydreams.” 

He frowned at her in frustration, but her expression was so pleading that he finally relented, albeit gracelessly. “Your hand between your legs,” he said bluntly. “That is something I imagined with particular frequency.” 

Hawke exhaled shakily, then slid her hand from her breast down over the bowl of her belly. She parted her knees, and Fenris stared shamelessly as she dipped two fingers into her slippery heat. 

She released a needy little whimper and fisted her free hand in the pillow above her head. The stretch lifted her breasts, and Fenris swiftly took advantage by lowering his face and greedily tasting her nipple. 

“Fenris,” she gasped, “please. Tell me - talk to me. Talk to me some more.”

He suckled her nipple for a moment more, then gently bit the tender little peak before reluctantly raising his face. “I liked to think about those fingers between your legs,” he growled. “I would think about you touching yourself, and I would imagine you thinking about me.” 

She nodded her head furiously. Her hips rolled slowly against her own hand, her fingers becoming wet as she slid them smoothly between her slick folds. “Go on,” she panted. 

He lowered his lips to her ear. “I liked to imagine you fantasizing about my head between your legs,” he murmured. “I remembered that was a favourite activity of yours.” 

“Yes,” she gasped, and bucked her hips insistently against her stroking fingers. “Fuck, yes-” 

She gasped more desperately still as Fenris placed one hand on the inside of her thigh: not quite close enough to touch her wetness, but close enough to tease. He nipped the edge of her ear before speaking again. “Did you think about me, Hawke?” he whispered. “Imagine my tongue on that sweet little clit of yours?” 

“Yes!” she blurted. Her fingers were swirling more frantically between her legs now, and Fenris held his breath until she suddenly cried out. “Oh Maker, yes, yes-” She slammed her head back in the pillow in her climax, then viciously arched her back as Fenris slipped one finger inside of her. 

“Fuck!” she gasped. She thrust her hips against his hand. “Oh fuck, Fenris, _yes!_ ”

He licked the taut tendon in her neck, then pressed his mouth to her ear again. “Is this what you imagined, Rynne?” he growled. “My fingers inside of you, feeling you and filling you up?” 

“Yes, yes, every night!” she cried. She clasped the back of his neck and turned her face toward him. 

Her lips were tempting, so fucking tempting and lush and red, and Fenris forced himself to lean away from their obvious invitation. She whimpered desperately as he pulled away, then released another ecstatic cry as he slid a second finger inside of her.

He curled the tips of his fingers gently, and she bucked her hips to take his fingers deeper. “Please!” she sobbed. 

He bit his lip and forced himself to breathe. Hawke was absolutely breathtaking, her obvious need written in every tense line and curve of her body, and Fenris was torn; should he fulfill her plea and take what she was offering, or should he see how long he could draw this out?

He carefully pressed his fingers inside of her for a moment more, then pulled his fingers free and sat up on his knees. “Do you want to hear another fantasy I harboured?” he asked. 

She mewled with distress at the abandonment of his fingers, then nodded her head. “Yes,” she whimpered. Her eyes fixed on the hard rise of his manhood, and she reached for him. 

He grabbed her hand before she could touch his cock, then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I imagined you on your hands and knees for me,” he rasped. “ _Venhedis,_ did I imagine that often. I was obsessed by the thought of it: staring at you as you showed yourself to me…”

She pulled her hand from his grip, then rolled swiftly onto her hands and knees and looked at him over her shoulder. “Like this?” she asked.

Fenris released a hard exhale. She was so damned beautiful and open and trusting, and he wanted her so badly… 

He grasped his throbbing cock and slid his fist slowly along his length. “Lower,” he panted. 

She lowered herself to her elbows, and Fenris stared at her ass with a nearly-painful surge of longing. “Lower,” he urged. “With your arms above your head.”

She followed his cue, stretching her arms out overhead and pressing her breasts against the bed, and Fenris gormlessly admired her beauty as he stroked himself. Her exposed back was a work of art, a play of golden skin and swirling black ink that spilled from her left shoulder to her lower ribs. 

As Fenris watched, she deepened the arch of her back and spread her knees even wider. “Show me what you imagined next,” she demanded. 

Her voice was strained with lust, and Fenris finally cracked. He slid up behind her, taking her hips in his hands and pressing the tip of his cock against her slick heat. 

She suddenly bucked back against him, and Fenris cried out helplessly as she took his full length inside of her. She was tight, so tight and beautifully slick and _perfect_ , and how was it that this felt just as good as the first time even though they’d done this multiple times tonight -

She reached back and grabbed his hand. “Fenris, _please,_ ” she begged. “Fuck me hard, please! I need you!” 

He inhaled deeply, then tightened his grasp on her hips. “Like this?” he gritted, and slammed his cock into her. 

She jolted forward with the impact and clenched her fingers in the sheets. “Oh fuck, yes!”

Fenris withdrew slowly, then ran one hand along her tattooed back. “Is this what you imagined while lying in your bed with your fingers between your legs?” he demanded. He slammed himself deep a second time. 

Hawke pounded her fist against the mattress. “Yes, I did! Yes!” she screamed. 

He pulled slowly out of her heat and thrust himself inside of her again, then leaned over her prone body and wrapped his arms around her. “So did I,” he confessed. Then he began to fuck her in earnest.

The sounds of their sex filled the air, harsh breathing and skin meeting skin, Hawke’s pleasured moans a perfect counterpoint for the guttural groans that Fenris couldn’t seem to keep contained in his throat. He pressed his mouth against her skin, inhaling her warm sandalwood scent as he drove himself deep inside of her. His every sense was filled with her - her salt on his tongue, her warm scent filling his lungs, the sound of her pleading cries and the sight of her rapture-filled face pressed against the mattress - and the feel of her, _fasta vass_ , the feel of her… 

Hawke squeezed and surrounded him. She was tight and hot and dripping with desire, and as he thrust into her feverishly, he thought that he could happily drown himself in the blissful fucking _feel_ of her. He shut his eyes tightly, his teeth grinding together as the storm of lust boiled below his belly, and when it erupted, the sudden burst of pleasure ratcheted through his limbs and up through his chest and forced a helpless cry from his throat. 

He shuddered fitfully, then rested his sweaty cheek against Hawke’s back. He could feel the depth of her breathing through her ribs, and he closed his eyes and breathed with her until they were inhaling and exhaling in a slow and steady tandem.

Eventually she wiggled her hips, and Fenris carefully withdrew from her heat. He crawled up beside her and flopped onto his side in exhaustion, and Hawke slowly curled up on her side as well, her arm tucked under her cheek as she graced him with a slow smile. 

She shuffled closer and tucked her leg between his thighs. “Such naughty fantasies, Fenris,” she purred. “I always knew you were just as dirty as me.”

Fenris returned her cheeky smile, then pulled her closer with his arm around her waist. “It’s your turn now,” he murmured. “Tell me something that you thought about.” 

She smiled more widely, then lowered her eyes and shyly bit her lip, and Fenris watched her curiously. He’d fully expected a filthy joke; he’d never known Hawke to resist the opportunity for lewd humour, after all. But when she lifted her gaze to his face again, her eyes were soft. 

“I thought about _this,_ ” she said. “Us lying together and you just… talking.” She shrugged casually. “You could be saying anything, I didn’t care. Sometimes I imagined you complaining about Merrill. Sometimes I imagined you reading a grocery list. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was your voice in my bed.”

Fenris swallowed hard. Her expression… It was soft and tender and so obviously loving, and there was nothing in the world he liked seeing more than that look on her face. 

A hot wave of affection warmed the inside of his ribs. He shuffled closer to her, as close as he could possibly get. Without speaking, Fenris gently nuzzled her nose, then kissed the lushness of her lips.

Hawke pressed herself against him, and he revelled in the feel of her fingers in his hair as they shared this slow and sumptuous kiss. The torrid fantasies, the wistful daydreams and the wishful thoughts: all of it had been a placeholder, a paltry imitation of _this_. 

This reality, the uninhibited press of her body and the loving press of her lips: no amount of fond imaginings would ever match up to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I like dirty talk and shiver-inducing voices. I have no regrets or shame. 
> 
> If you too are a shameless fan of voice kink and filthy talk, I have also written some [Solas voice kink smut](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455998), and some more [Solas voice kink smut,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423825) and [some Blackwall dirty talk.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165932/chapters/36684249)
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you care to join me! xo


	17. Surround Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after [Never Alone,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778491) i.e. after Hawke and Fen have gotten back together.

Don't overthink it  
Just finish up your drink and surround me  
Surround me  
The night ain't over, we're far from being sober  
Surround me, surround me  
'Cause I like you, I like you, I like you a lot  
How to see through the smoke? I don't know how you found me  
The night ain't over, we're far from being sober  
Surround me, surround me  
So don't let me go, no don't let me go…

“[”Surround Me” by LÉON](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fn06Edo8asw)  
*******************

Fenris sipped his wine, then shrugged casually as he set his glass on the table. “It does not seem plausible to me. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Varric scoffed and gave him a knowing look. “Elf, if you think that part of the romance is implausible, you haven’t spent enough time around humans.” 

Fenris glanced pointedly at the boisterous and primarily-human clientele of the Hanged Man. “I don’t think that insufficient time with humans is the problem.” 

Varric chuckled, and Fenris leaned his elbow on the table and lifted his glass again. “Don’t take offense that I didn’t like that part of your book,” he said. “You asked my opinion.” 

The storyteller waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, what do you know,” he said affably. “You’re not the target audience, anyway. I should have asked Merrill.” 

“Asked Merrill what?” Hawke said breathlessly as she plopped down on the bench beside Fenris. 

He pushed a tumbler of brandy toward her, and she smiled at him and sipped her drink as Varric explained. “The broody one here proofread a chapter of _Swords and Shields_ for me, but I don’t know why I even asked him. Merrill’s opinion would’ve been more helpful.”

Hawke swallowed her mouthful of brandy and wrinkled her nose. “ _Swords and Shields_? You’re sticking with that title? Really?”

“I beg your pardon,” Fenris said to Hawke in mock offense. “ _I_ chose that title.” 

She grinned and tweaked his earlobe. “So you did. I stand corrected. It’s a marvelous title.” 

“Ah, nepotism to the rescue,” Varric drawled.

“Now now, Varric.” Hawke draped her arms around Fenris’s neck and grinned wickedly at the dwarven storyteller. “You’ll always be my second most favourite person in the room, I promise.” 

“Thanks, Hawke. That’s… definitely something,” Varric said blandly.

She winked at him, then turned a winning smile on Fenris. “Come dance with me,” she said. “I wore Merrill out. I need someone new to dance with.” 

Fenris shook his head. “I’ve not had enough to drink.”

“That’s no excuse!” Hawke exclaimed. “Look, Aveline is dancing with Donnic and she’s _certainly_ not drunk enough to be attempting to dance.” She, Fenris and Varric glanced over at Aveline, who was looking very happy indeed as she clumsily swayed in her husband’s arms. 

Varric chuckled. “I don’t get it. She moves way better than that in a fight. You’d think some of that skill would transfer over or something.” 

Hawke snickered, then turned her attention to Fenris again. “Come on, Fenris, dance with me. You’ve never danced with me before.”

He shook his head again. “There is a good reason for that. I don’t dance.”

Hawke’s eyebrows jumped high on her forehead. “Yes you do! You told me you like to dance.”

Fenris frowned. “I did not.”

She let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “You absolutely did! You think I’d have forgotten something like that?”

“It’s true,” Varric interjected. “You said it. I was there.”

Fenris gave them both a deeply mistrustful look. He was fairly sure they were playing a trick on him. “When did I say that?” he demanded.

“Years ago!” Hawke said. “A couple months after we met. You said you liked to run around in your mansion choreographing dance routines.”

Suddenly he remembered what she meant. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, then wilted with exasperation. “Hawke, you know I was joking.”

She shrugged innocently. “Didn’t sound like a joke to me. What about you, Varric?”

“Nope,” Varric said cheerfully. “You sounded dead serious.”

Fenris lifted one eyebrow, then picked up his wine glass. “I’m afraid you’re both to be disappointed. I am not dancing.” 

Hawke pouted and batted her eyelashes. “Not even with me?” 

He smirked. “Not even with you, Hawke. There are too many people watching.” He took another sip of his wine. 

Hawke tutted in annoyance and released him from her loose embrace. “We’ll see about that,” she said boldly. “A few more drinks and you’ll be singing a different tune.” She dropped a noisy kiss on his cheek, then stood from the bench and sashayed over to the end of the table where Sebastian, Anders and Merrill were sitting.

“I don’t sing, either,” Fenris called after her, and she stuck her tongue out at him as she dragged Anders toward the dance floor. 

As she danced with Anders, Hawke kept her back to Fenris, and he instantly recognized her game. She was twisting and rolling her hips most provocatively, trailing her fingers across the back of her neck and throwing him the occasional heated glance over her shoulder, and Fenris shook his head in fond exasperation.

 _Trying to lure me with her body,_ he thought, but with no real pique whatsoever. Fenris wasn’t going to dance, but he was more than happy to watch her obvious show. 

Varric snorted. “The two of you are sickening. I should make _you_ the side romance in _Swords and Shields_.” 

Fenris tore his eyes away from Hawke’s ass. “I would prefer if you did not,” he said calmly, then gulped the rest of his wine and tried to ignore the warmth in his cheeks and belly.

Varric smirked. He held up two fingers to the nearest serving girl, then leaned his elbows on the table. “What about the introduction to _Siege Harder 2_ , then? Any comments?” 

Fenris huffed in disdain as Nora brought over a fresh round of drinks. “The title is horrendous,” he said bluntly. “ _The Flaming Fiasco_? I could not get past it to read the first page.”

Varric laughed, and the two of them continued to discuss books and local gossip and diamondback strategy. Sebastian joined them for a short while before leaving for the night, and Merrill and Anders drifted back and forth from the table and the dance floor. Aveline and Donnic eventually came over when Varric pulled out a pack of cards, and Fenris flatly refused to allow Aveline to play for fear of her flipping the table when she inevitably lost.

Hawke, meanwhile, continued to dance with a rotating parade of acquaintances along with Anders and Merrill. She returned to the table a few times to refresh herself with the ample supply of alcohol that Varric kept summoning, and each time she took a break, she graced Fenris with a provocative grin that was increasingly difficult to ignore.

In fact, Fenris was finding it hard to focus at all on his companions at the table. The night had taken on a warm and fuzzy quality, and his attention seemed both slower and more focused than usual as he shamelessly studied his dark-haired lover’s sinuously twisting body. As he sipped his fourth - or was it his fifth, or Maker forbid, his sixth? He couldn’t recall - glass of wine, he marvelled at the warm sense of wellbeing that seemed to glow in his belly like the gentle embers of a fire. He was tipsy, certainly, and that could easily explain it. But he couldn’t recall ever feeling this utterly relaxed while drinking. There was something different about this evening, a kind of looseness that he hadn’t felt before while lounging at the Hanged Man with Hawke and the others. He could probably figure out what the difference was if he tried, but his pleasantly bleary mind was too content to think very hard right now.

Donnic offered to deal him in for a fourth hand, but Fenris politely declined, preferring instead to watch as Hawke placed her hands on Merrill’s waist and playfully coaxed the younger elf into a rolling grind. Hawke said something to Merrill, then threw her head back in laughter as Merrill’s cheeks went pink, and Fenris admired the line of his lover’s exposed throat with blatant appreciation. 

He lifted his glass and drained the last few gulps of wine, then permitted his eyes to trail lazily from Hawke’s neck down to the swaying of her hips. She was so alluring: the subtle curves of her breasts, and those damned rolling hips, and her slender legs that wrapped so perfectly around his waist… 

He pushed himself to his feet. The room seemed to sway in time with Hawke’s hips, and Fenris moved through the tavern toward her in a careful straight line. The lively tavern music was louder than he’d first thought, or perhaps that was because he was standing next to the musicians now, and then he was passing by them and reaching for her - 

He took hold of her arm. Her eyes widened in surprise as she turned away from Merrill, and then her hands were on his shoulders and a smile was lighting her face as he pulled her against his chest. 

Her expression was a picture of delight. “I thought you don’t dance,” she yelled over the music. 

Fenris banded his arm firmly around her waist, then told her the truth. “I have never tried,” he said. “What circumstance would ever arise where a slave would have cause to dance? But you…” He trailed off and shook his head ruefully, then leaned in and brushed his lips over her cheekbone.

He pressed his lips to the delicate shell of her ear. “You make me want to try,” he murmured.

Hawke pressed herself firmly against his front, and a hot ripple of satisfaction pooled in his belly as she smoothly slid her pelvis against his own. “Move with me, then,” she breathed. 

And so he did. Fenris moved with her, swaying slowly as the room spun around them, and it was easy and sweet and scorching. Her hips were pressed tight against him, and her fingers were warm as they cradled his neck, and if this was dancing, this slow and rolling slide against Hawke’s body, then Fenris could easily do this every night. He could do this every morning. Hell, he could do this while lying naked beside her in her bed. 

He opened his eyes and met Hawke’s copper gaze. She was so beautiful, with that slow smile curling her lips and the angle of her chin as she lifted it in invitation… 

Fenris kissed her. And then the room was doing the dancing for them, swirling around them as the exhilaration rose in his chest and stole the breath from his lungs. He wrapped his arms tightly around Hawke’s waist, as tightly as her arms were wrapped around his neck. The music was beating in his chest, beating in time with his joyous heart, and the breath he’d lost was back, but it wasn’t air he was breathing anymore: it was her, it was Hawke, and she was filling his lungs with the taste of her lips and her maddening scent of sandalwood and sweat... 

She gently peeled her lips away from his, and Fenris reluctantly opened his eyes. Hawke smiled brilliantly at him, then cast a surreptitious glance to the side. “Fenris, everyone is watching,” she murmured.

He didn’t care. For the first time, he didn’t care if everyone was staring. His mind was floating and free and far too content to care. His blood was thrumming happily through his limbs, and his whole body was buzzing with pleasure from his cheeks to the tips of his toes, and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making him feel this way. 

“Let them watch,” he whispered. Then he kissed her again. 

She tightened her arms around his neck and pressed her knee between his legs, and Fenris sank every remaining scrap of his attention into the perfection of her kiss. In this moment, with his heart beating in time with Hawke’s and his deliriously happy thoughts swirling in time with the tavern, it felt like the whole world was dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* I have some angst ideas still lined up. For those of you that are into that. ;) 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) Stop by and say hello if you'd like :)


	18. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a few days after [Never Alone,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778491) i.e. after Hawke and Fen have gotten back together.

Blood.

It was everywhere. Pools of it, rivulets of it cracking the soil, dried black clots of it sprinkled across the bodies he’d left broken on the ground, clouds of it roiling from the mist and filling his lungs. 

He relished in it. He reviled it. It was his salvation and his curse, pouring from his glowing palms in anger and revenge and absolute, total, crushing despair.

A bloody grin lit that hated face with those hated pale eyes. Fenris snarled as he twisted his fist in Danarius’s chest, but the magister just grinned and grinned with pale eyes and bloodied teeth, those bloodied and pointed teeth that grew and expanded and took up his entire face as it swelled and stretched grotesquely…

 _An abomination_. Fenris had known it was too good to be true. Of course he wasn’t dead. Of course he’d used his blasted fucking blood magic to become an abomination, and now he’d have to be killed again and again and again - 

“Fenris.”

The abomination’s grasping claw grabbed him, and he wrenched his arm away. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. 

The hand jerked away. Fenris gasped and forced his eyes open, but it was too dark to see a thing. He blindly rolled onto his back and shoved himself upright. Where was he, where the fuck was this? 

A voice in the darkness called his name. “Fenris, wake up,” she said.

That voice - _her_ voice - 

Relief smashed over him as his half-sleeping mind finally clicked into place. “Hawke?” he said hoarsely. 

“It’s just me,” she murmured. “Are you all right?” The mattress shifted as she moved closer, and her fingers brushed against his side.

He flinched away from her touch. “Don’t,” he blurted. The dream was fading already, leaving only fractured images of bodies and blood, but the lingering revulsion and rage continued to rub at his skin like sandpaper. 

She pulled her hand away. “Okay,” she said hastily. “Hands off, I promise.” She was quiet for a moment, and Fenris forced himself to breathe evenly into the silence. 

A moment later, she spoke again. “Do you want to be alone? I can go downstairs and lounge with Toby for a bit…”

“No,” he said immediately. “No. I…” He trailed off, then rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes before dragging his fingers through his hair. “Don’t go,” he said. “I want you here.” 

“All right,” she whispered. “I’m here.” The mattress shifted again as she settled down beside him.

The room was silent but for the pounding of his heart. He rested his elbows on his knees and focused on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling carefully until the blood stopped pulsing behind his eyes with every beat. 

Hawke chuckled weakly. “I feel a bit useless. Should I, er… Mother would sing lullabies when we had nightmares. But that’s for babies. Never mind. Um…” 

“You can talk,” he said. “I… I would like it if you talked.” 

“Oh good! That’s something I am very good at,” she said. “You sure you don’t want me to sing?”

Her voice was quiet but teasing, and Fenris could feel his neck muscles loosening at her jocular tone. “That won’t be necessary,” he drawled softly. 

She chuckled. “As you like,” she said, then rolled toward him, careful not to touch him as she settled on her side. “What should I talk about?” she mused. “I know. I’ll tell you what I did today in terribly exhaustive detail. That will put you right back to sleep. First I got up and had a piece of toast. Then I brushed my teeth. Then I went to the market to buy some fish…” 

He smirked at her, then lay back on the pillows as she continued to talk. “... then I had to give Toby a bath because he rolled around in the fish guts at the market. It was completely vile. Did you know that there’s no good spell for purging a dog’s fur of evil odours? Purging poisons and curses, yes. Purging disgusting smells, no.” 

Fenris settled himself on his side and studied her beloved face in the dark. “I was not aware,” he murmured. “But I suppose that’s good to know. One thing that magic cannot do.” 

“I thought you’d like that,” Hawke said. “Now, what else did I do today? Ah, yes. There was a new troupe at the Hanged Man. I poked my head in for just a minute, but we should go back and see them perform tomorrow. They did an amazing version of this one song that I used to love when I first moved here, and it was just - oh, but you don’t want me to sing…” 

Fenris blinked slowly. Her quiet voice was as vibrant and bright as always, but it was soothing him nonetheless. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Sing if you must.”

“You sure?” she asked. 

He smiled sleepily at her playful tone. “Yes,” he whispered, then closed his eyes. “But no filthy limericks set to music. Do not make me regret this.”

She laughed softly. “All right, Fenris. Just for you, I’ll hold back on the dirty lyrics.” She cleared her throat, then began to sing.

_When we arrive, sons and daughters_  
_We'll make our homes on the water_  
_We'll build our walls of aluminum_  
_We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon now_

_These currents pull us 'cross the border_  
_Steady your boats, arms to shoulder_  
_'Til tides all pull our hull aground_  
_Making this calm harbour our home..._

Hawke’s voice was soft and slightly cracked with sleep, and some of her notes were out of tune. 

Fenris had never heard anything sweeter in his life. 

*********************

The next morning, Hawke was as cheerful as always. She teased him about his bed-head while she bustled around making the bed, and she hummed to herself as she traced the fine kohl lines around her eyes, and she chatted happily with Orana when the elven girl brought them a tray of coffee and pastries in the study. 

There was, however, one glaring difference: Hawke hadn’t touched him all morning.

This was very unusual. When Fenris and Hawke were in private, some part of her body was almost constantly in contact with some part of his: holding his hand, squeezing his arm, stroking his chin or his earlobe, pressing her knee against his own. Fenris couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat on a piece of furniture in her house or his without the warmth of her body pressed against him. 

Hawke smiled at Orana as she left the room, then sat cross-legged on the carpet about a foot away from him. “We should probably go talk to Her Fancy Highness the Knight-Commander today. Let’s leave Anders behind this time, shall we? I’d rather not break up a brawl between the two of you today-”

“Hawke,” Fenris interrupted. “You can touch me if you want.” 

She stopped short and gave him a careful look. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said. He held out his arm and beckoned her close.

“Oh thank fuck,” she exclaimed, then immediately slid over to him and slung her legs across his lap. “I thought I was going to explode.” She nestled her head cozily into the crook of his neck and sipped her coffee. 

He draped his arm around her shoulders. “I apologize for last night,” he said quietly. “I had hoped this particular issue would not follow me into your house. It seems that I have no such luck.” 

She tilted her chin up to look at him. “Do you often have bad dreams?” she asked.

He shrugged moodily. “On occasion. They become tenacious when I start sleeping in the same place for several nights in a row.” That was the cruelest irony of the nightmares. When he’d been on the run from Danarius, sleeping in abandoned hovels and muddy shelters in the woods, he’d almost never had a nightmare. It was only when he stopped moving for a few nights at a time that the nightmares would begin to plague his sleeping mind. 

Hawke drew back and stared at him in dismay. “Wait. But how long do they last for, then? Surely you haven’t been having them for years…?”

He shook his head. “They stop eventually, for the most part.” He declined to tell her that it had taken almost two months of living in Kirkwall before the nightmares had started to wane.

He dearly hoped they would go away more quickly this time around. Hawke’s home was not that much of a change from his own mansion; he was still in Kirkwall, after all, and still in a house that was familiar to him. Most importantly, he was safe and free. There was no good reason for these dreams to keep needling him at night.

Hawke ran a comforting hand across his chest. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“I… don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t know that there is anything to be done.” He had never had to worry about someone else’s reaction to his rude awakenings. He hadn’t shared sleeping quarters with another living person since he’d left Seheron, and when he travelled out of town with Hawke and the others, he hadn’t shared a tent with any of them. 

Hawke was quiet for a moment. Her voice was hesitant when she finally spoke. “Maybe… maybe we jumped into sleepovers too soon,” she suggested. “Would it help if you spent some nights alone at your own house? Slept in your own bed, had your own routine a few nights a week?” 

Her fingers were tight in the fabric of his tunic, and Fenris understood her reluctance. In all honesty, he was reluctant too. But her suggestion made a certain kind of sense.

He sighed. “The idea has merit,” he said grudgingly. “It is worth a try.” 

She nodded, and they sat together in silence for a moment, his arm tight around her shoulders and her head pressed firmly to his neck.

Then she pulled away and smirked at him. “Maybe I’ll let Toby take your place when you’re not here. He’s _almost_ as warm as you. But much more hairy, unfortunately. I much prefer hugging your gorgeous hairless chest.” Her fingers snuck under the hem of his tunic and across his abs.

He jolted and grabbed her creeping fingers through his shirt. “Hawke,” he warned. “That tickles.” 

She blinked innocently at him. “Well, I can’t see what I’m doing,” she replied. “If you take off your shirt, I’ll know not to touch the ticklish bits.” 

He sighed. “You are a pain in my ass,” he told her affectionately. 

“And what a fine ass it is,” she purred. Slowly and sinuously, she straddled his lap, then took hold of the hem of his shirt.

Fenris allowed her to pull the tunic over his head, then pulled her flush to his naked chest. _I will miss you,_ he thought, but he didn’t say it; it was a foolish sentiment, even if it was true. He spent most of his days with Hawke, after all. He could bear to be apart from her for a few nights if it meant getting these pernicious dreams under control. 

****************

Later that night, Fenris was lying on his familiar mattress in his familiar mansion, and he couldn’t sleep. 

It was infuriating. He and Hawke had agreed on this plan, and it was supposed to help eradicate his blighted nightmares, but now that he was alone in his own bed, he couldn’t sleep. 

After lying restless and bored in the dark for a few hours, Fenris got up and pulled on his armour. He slipped unobtrusively through Kirkwall’s streets until he arrived at Hawke’s mansion.

He used his key to get in and soothed a snarling Toby with a pat on the head, then made his way up the stairs to Hawke’s room.

He knocked softly on the door and listened, but there was no response. He knocked a bit more loudly. “Hawke?” he called. 

A soft whimper floated through the door, and Fenris cautiously eased it open. As expected, Hawke was in bed. She rolled from her side onto her back as he opened the door, and for a moment Fenris thought she was awake until he saw that her eyes were closed.

Not simply closed, he realized, but shut tight. With a jolt of alarm, he noted that her whole face was a tight and twisted expression of distress. As he watched, she jerked her head to the side and whimpered again. 

He slipped into the room and pulled off his gauntlets as he sat on the side of the bed. “Hawke,” he murmured.

She inhaled through her nose, then she sobbed, and Fenris reached out and squeezed her hand. “ _Rynne,_ ” he said, a bit more loudly.

She gasped, her eyes popping open only to drift half-closed again as she exhaled heavily. “No,” she mewled. “I have to…” 

He squeezed her hand again, and she woke properly this time. Her eyes widened as she recognized him in the dark, and she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Fenris?”

Her grip was hard and her voice was plaintive and thin, not at all like her usual bold tone. He took both of her hands and squeezed them gently. “I’m sorry to intrude,” he said softly. “I was unable to sleep, and I thought…”

She clutched convulsively at his forearm. “Will you hold me? Please?” 

Her fingers were painfully tight, squeezing as though to confirm he was truly there. He forced himself to breathe through the sudden burst of tenderness that filled his lungs. 

“Of course,” he said. He pulled off his armour as quickly as he could, then crawled onto the bed.

Hawke wrapped her arms around his neck before he even had a chance to settle. When he finally lay on his side, she pressed her mostly-naked body against him, her arms tight around his neck as she kicked the sheets away from her legs and tucked one knee between his legs. 

She was shaking. It was a subtle but constant tremor through her body and arms, and a lump swelled in his throat at her extremely unusual show of fear. What in the Void had she been dreaming of that had scared her so?

“Be easy, Hawke." With difficulty, he rolled onto his back so he could hold her with both arms. 

She curled her arms around his waist and tangled her legs with his, and Fenris breathed in the sleepy scent of her tousled hair. Despite her near-nakedness and the discarded blankets, her shivering was easing up, and Fenris kept his arms wrapped tight around her until her body became loose and calm. 

He ran a soothing hand along her tattooed back. “It seems obvious now, but I was hoping to stay here tonight,” he said. “If that’s all right.”

“Of course, you handsome fool,” she mumbled. “You can stay here whenever you want.” 

Her sleepy voice was round and full with the return of her humour. Fenris trailed his fingers lightly over her ear, then finally closed his eyes. 

_So much for a few nights apart,_ he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to be displeased. His dreams might plague him later, but he didn’t care. He was right where he most wanted to be. 

He and Hawke didn’t agree on everything, but it seemed that they were of the same mind on this matter at least: it was better to face nightmares together than alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of weird references in here that I'd like to credit:  
> \- A bit of Hawke's nighttime ramblings were shamelessly stolen from, of all things, [Futurama.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdcaSGMedMs)  
> \- The song that Hawke sings to Fenris is [_Sons and Daughters_ by the Decemberists.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5H8DwJI0uA) Such a great song, and it strikes me as pretty appropriate for Fereldan refugees coming to Kirkwall. 
> 
> Also, facing nightmares together... Hey, remember that time in _Inquisition_ when Hawke had to face the Nightmare in the Fade without Fenris at her side? Remember that time? Because I do. THANKS, I HATE IT. 
> 
> ~~What I mean by this is that there might be Fenquisition fic ideas rattling around in this obsessive brain of mine oh wait what nothing no I didn’t say anything byeeeeee~~
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr.](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) Swing by if you like! :)


	19. Forgive or Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Includes smut! (Do I need to say this at the start of chapters? Have I been saying it? I can't remember.)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Nyxisis (@pixieresque on Tumblr), who requested some quality Fenris and Toby time! Just a little bit of that thrown in here for you! xoxo
> 
> This takes place after [Never Alone,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778491) i.e. after Hawke and Fen have gotten back together.

Fenris opened his front door and was nearly bowled over by Hawke and her mabari hound as they barreled their way inside.

“You’ll never guess who’s back in town!” Hawke exclaimed. Her face was a picture of excitement as she turned to face him. “I’ll give you a hint: only one person in this room has slept with her, and that’s really saying something.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Isabela’s back?”

“Yes!” Hawke squealed. “We stopped by the Hanged Man to speak to Varric, and there she was at the bar, as casual as you please. It’s like she never left.” She grinned at him as she kicked off her boots. “She even apologized for being gone so long! I almost had a stroke from the shock alone.” She knelt to playfully ruffle Toby’s neck. “It’s exciting, isn’t it, boy?” she crooned. “We just about had a seizure, didn’t we?” 

“That’s… good,” Fenris said. He was genuinely surprised. Isabela had been gone so long that he’d honestly stopped expecting her to return.

Hawke threw him an incredulous look. “Good? It’s fantastic! I always knew she’d come back. This is just proof of how good I am at predicting the future. I should moonlight as a fortune teller.” She winked at him.

Fenris eyed her shrewdly as she returned her attention to Toby. She hadn’t often spoken of Isabela in the last three years, but Fenris knew for a fact that she’d been less than certain of Isabela’s return.

“We will be seeing her later tonight, then?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Hawke said. “Homecoming party at my house. All of us will be there. That’s why I came, actually - I want to raid your wine cellar. I think you finished my last bottle of red last night.” She smiled teasingly at him.

He smirked. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “I don’t believe I have anything good here. But you are free to take whatever you find.” 

“Good,” she chirped. “I’ll be back in a moment. Then we can head over to mine?” 

He nodded, and Hawke gave Toby one last scratch as she rose to her feet. “Stay here. Keep Fenris company,” she said to the hound, then traipsed off to Fenris’s wine cellar.

Fenris looked down at Toby, who wagged his tail happily in return. Fenris gave the hound a half-smile as he crouched beside him. “Are you pleased to see Isabela, too?” he murmured.

Toby wagged his tail more enthusiastically, and Fenris huffed in amusement. “Of course you are. That damned pirate feeds you from the table. It’s a terrible habit.” He scratched the loyal hound’s jowls. 

A few minutes later, Toby was splayed blissfully on his back while Fenris rubbed his belly, but Hawke still hadn’t returned. Fenris frowned in the direction of the wine cellar. He was quite certain it was practically empty; Hawke should have been back by now with any spoils, if there were any to be had.

He rose to his feet, and Toby whined at the abandonment. Fenris frowned at him. “You can come as well,” he said. “No one is stopping you.” He headed to the wine cellar with Hawke’s hound at his heels. 

He found her kneeling on the floor of the cellar with her elbows resting on an open crate. Fenris studied her bowed head for a moment before stepping into the room. “Are you all right?”

She jerked her head up at the sound of his voice. “Of course!” she chirped. She hastily wiped her face before turning to smile at him. “I’m in mourning for this last bottle of Nevarran red, though. I’m stealing it for tonight.” She turned back to the crate and pulled out the single bottle that sat inside.

Fenris offered her a hand, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet. He gave her a knowing look as she met his gaze. “It would not be unreasonable if you were angry,” he said carefully. 

She blinked up at him with wide eyes. “Angry about what? Isabela came back! It’s great!” She released his hand and drifted over to his dusty shelves with Toby in her wake. She idly petted the dog, then drifted her fingers over the detritus and broken bottles that were the shelves’ only contents. 

Fenris watched her haphazard movements with growing tenderness. He hadn’t explicitly mentioned Isabela’s name when he’d asked if she was angry. 

He picked his way past the broken crates and gently tugged her arm. “Hawke,” he said quietly. 

An instant later, her face was pressed to his shoulder, and her arms were so tight around his waist that he could feel the wracking shake of her body. Toby leaned heavily against her legs, and Fenris held her close, pressing his cheek to the side of her dark-haired head as her fingers clenched against his back.

A long minute later, Hawke took a deep breath. “I’m just… so happy she’s back.” She hiccuped and pressed her face more firmly against his shoulder. 

Her voice was thick and a little bit wobbly. Fenris stroked the back of her neck. “I know,” he murmured.

She sniffled quietly, and Fenris simply held her until her shoulders relaxed. Finally she leaned away and smiled at him with reddened eyes. “Wait until you see her, though. She’s more tan than I remembered. Tall, dark, and more beautiful than ever. I’d forgotten what it was like to have Kirkwall’s most gorgeous tart making me look bad.” She chuckled and scratched Toby’s ears until he was wagging his tail again.

Fenris tipped her chin up and gave her a chiding look. “Don’t be foolish, Hawke. Your beauty is incomparable.” 

She grinned at him: a huge, genuine grin, exactly what he’d been hoping to see. She slid her arms around his neck. “You damned smooth talker,” she purred. “Trying to tempt me into cancelling this party?”

He slid his palms appreciatively along the curves of her waist. “Perhaps,” he mused. “Am I succeeding?”

She laughed. “Not quite,” she said. “But I’ll reward that silver tongue of yours later tonight.” She stepped away with a dirty smile.

“I will hold you to that,” Fenris drawled, then followed Hawke’s sunny laugh as she skipped out of the wine cellar. 

He didn’t doubt that Hawke was happy about Isabela’s return. But if the past seven years had taught Fenris anything, it was the fragile opacity of Hawke’s humorous mask.

*****************

“Fenris!” 

He smirked at Isabela as she sauntered over with a smile. “Isabela,” he greeted. “Three years later and still no ship of your own, or so I understand.”

She dramatically pressed a hand to her ample chest. “Ouch! Hitting me where it hurts? What did I ever do to you?” She planted her fist on her hip and slid an appreciative look over his body. “You look well,” she said. “I’m glad to hear you finally got your cock on straight. Your head, I mean.” 

Fenris pursed his lips, and Isabela grinned. “Now that you two fools have finally figured yourselves out, I can give you some tips,” she continued. “There’s a tongue thing that Hawke particularly likes, if you-”

“I know what Hawke likes without your help, thank you,” he drawled.

Isabela gave a throaty laugh. “Oh, Fenris. Such confidence! I hope it’s not misplaced.”

He opened his mouth with a retort at the ready, but Hawke bounced over before he could speak. “Gossiping about me behind my back, I see?” she said cheerfully as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’d rather you gossip in front of my face! Let me watch the whole thing unfold. It’s like my own private melodrama.” She grinned at Isabela.

The erstwhile captain folded her arms innocently. “I was just trying to make sure he’s treating you well,” she replied. “Keeping an eye out for my girl, you know.” She raised one eyebrow salaciously. 

Hawke laughed. “Oh Bels, you have nothing to worry about with this one. He does a far better job than you.” She slapped Fenris on the ass, then grinned at him when he shot her a chiding look.

Isabela gasped in pretend offense. “Damn, now _you’re_ taking shots at me? If I’d known this was going to be a roast, I’d have worn a less flammable dress.”

Hawke laughed. “Your dress is flammable by virtue of being wrapped around your fine ass,” she said. She swiftly kissed Isabela on the cheek, then hurried over to the door to greet Sebastian and Merrill. 

Isabela chuckled, then smirked at Fenris again. “She’s the same as ever, isn’t she? I’m glad this Champion business hasn’t brought her down.” 

Fenris gave her a half-smile and shrugged. As with everything difficult in her life, Hawke’s unwanted title weighed on her more than she was letting on, even to him. It was only since they’d begun spending their nights together that he was realizing how much the festering conflict between Meredith and Orsino was bothering her.

But Isabela would figure that out in time, if she stuck around.

A high-pitched squeal of delight made him flinch, and he took a hasty step back as Merrill flung herself into Isabela’s arms. He slipped away from the two women and joined Varric instead, who was trying to teach Sandal how to shuffle cards, with Bodahn’s benevolent supervision. 

A couple of hours, many hands of diamondback, and a few drinks later, Fenris wandered into the kitchen for another bowl of nuts and found Isabela pouring herself a measure of rum.

She leaned back against the counter with her tumbler in hand as he rummaged around in a cupboard. “Ah, I missed you idiots,” she said. “Funny how some things don’t change. Except Anders. He’s gone a bit… weird. More than before, I mean.” She sipped her drink. “What’s going on with him?”

Fenris grunted. His tolerance of Anders has sharply declined over the past few months, but Fenris was in too good a mood to talk about that right now. 

He changed the topic. “Hawke is pleased that you’ve returned,” he said.

Isabela sighed and leaned one elbow on the counter. “Is this where you scold me for taking so long to come back?” she said plaintively. “I told you I would. Eventually.”

Fenris shrugged as he opened a sachet of roasted peanuts. “I am not scolding you. You’re a free agent; you can do whatever you like.” He declined to point out that Isabela’s freedom was entirely thanks to Hawke. He raised one eyebrow at her. “Do you think you deserve to be scolded?”

Isabela folded her arms and smirked. “That depends. What does this ‘scolding’ entail?” she purred.

Fenris gave her a flat look, and she chuckled. She drained her glass in two gulps, then poured herself another drink. “Well, Hawke forgave me. If my coming back is good enough for her, it should be good enough for you.”

He scooped some roasted nuts into a bowl. “I did not say it wasn’t.” 

Isabela shot him an exasperated look. “Oh come on, Fenris, you’re not perfect either. We’re both lucky that she forgives everyone for everything.” She pushed away from the counter and took the bowl of peanuts from his hands. “I’ll make it up to her, all right?” She sauntered out of the kitchen. 

Fenris frowned at her not-so-subtle dig as he followed her back to the cacophony of Hawke’s games room. Aveline and Anders were embroiled in an argument over the last hand of cards, and Donnic was trying to restore the peace while Varric chuckled, but Fenris couldn’t quite muster a smile as he took his seat next to Hawke. 

Her face was lit with a broad grin, but it faded somewhat as she looked at him. She gently rubbed his chin. “Everything all right?” 

He nodded, but her expression didn’t clear until he surreptitiously placed his hand on her knee. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, and the corners of her eyes crinkled in a smile. 

Then Anders’ indignant voice reached a crescendo. “You can’t discard the card you just picked up,” he snapped at Aveline. “That’s not how the game works. It’s not fair.” 

“‘Fair’.” The redheaded warrior snorted. “So Justice - or Vengeance, or whatever it is - cares about the outcomes of card games, now?”

Anders swelled in indignation, and Hawke rose from her chair and sashayed over to them. “All right, all right, now I know tensions are high because Varric is fleecing all of us-” 

“Hey,” Varric interjected. “My winnings are entirely fair.”

“Untrue. You and Merrill have a signal,” Hawke announced. “I’ve been watching you.”

“Hawke!” Merrill gasped. “I would never-” 

“Merrill,” Hawke interrupted, “You are a woman of many talents, but a convincing poker face is _not_ one of them.” 

The table erupted into laughter and playful jeering. Isabel threw popcorn at Varric and Merrill while Sebastian chastised them for their dishonesty, and Fenris watched as Hawke continued to tease and deflect until Anders smiled at Aveline and the Guard-Captain affably elbowed him in return. 

As he watched Hawke’s careful social lubrication, Fenris thought back to the time he’d accidentally witnessed her lamenting to Varric about his misplaced cruelty. He remembered the multitude of times he’d stormed away from her, only to return to her openly smiling face. 

He wondered how many times she’d cried over him in secret when nobody was around to see. 

A pang of remorse prodded his belly, and he toyed with his wineglass for a moment before gulping the last mouthful. Perhaps Isabela was right; perhaps Hawke was more forgiving than she should be.

Perhaps the wily pirate wasn’t the only one with several years of sins to make up for. 

****************

Much later that night, Fenris followed a giggling Hawke up the stairs to her bedroom. She pushed open the bedroom door, then grinned at him as she made her way inside. “... and Merrill mocking him behind his back,” she snickered. “I never would have guessed she could imitate Seb’s pious-Chantry face so well. I’ll have to ask her to break it out next time we go to the Gallows. Meredith will love it, I’m sure.”

Fenris sat on the edge of the bed as she began unbuttoning her vest. She shed the vest and tossed it onto her desk chair, then glanced at him curiously as she began unlacing her shirt. “You’ve been a bit broody tonight. Handsome as always, but broody.” She gave him a half-smile. “Tongue-tied at the sight of Isabela? I don’t blame you. I was too, I can assure you.” She winked as she discarded her shirt. 

He studied her with painful fondness as she stripped off her trousers. How was it that she could be so bold, but so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable at the same time? 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“For what?” she said. She glanced casually at him, then froze as she met his eye. The lightning-quick flash of panic across her face simultaneously confirmed his suspicions and broke his heart. 

She was still afraid. Despite their warm togetherness, a part of her was still afraid that he was going to leave.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close to stand between his legs. “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. I… the time I needed…” He paused for a moment, then softly he said, “Isabela was not the only one who abandoned you.”

Her face instantly softened, and the sheer relief in her smile only made his heart hurt even more. She gently pinched his earlobe. “You didn’t abandon me, you foolish dreamboat,” she said. “Nobody has been more present than you.” 

He shook his head. “I… have not been kind to you,” he said with difficulty. “I left you, I have said things that were not-”

She cupped his face in her hands. “Fenris, it’s all right,” she said firmly. “There’s no need to keep apologizing forever.” She smiled impishly. “You saddled yourself with me in the end. That’s all I really wanted anyway.” 

He swallowed hard. The fact that she would joke about herself in this way - that she would joke about _his_ feelings this way… It was far more telling than her cheeky smile. 

He pulled her closer, sliding his hands from her hips up to her waist. “I will make it up to you,” he promised.

“There’s nothing to make up for,” she insisted. 

He tilted her chin down and looked into her eyes. “There is,” he said seriously, then reached for the laces on her bustier. 

Her serious expression broke into a mischievous smile. “Oh,” she said. “ _This_ kind of making up? Well, I’m all for that.” 

Her spine was already arching, bringing her skin closer to his fingers, and Fenris finally smiled. He took her chin in a gentle grip. “Shut up, Hawke,” he whispered, then gently kissed her raspberry-red lips. 

Hawke parted her lips to permit the careful questing of his tongue. She rested her palms on his thighs as he tugged the laces on her bustier, and Fenris fought to ignore the heat of her hands on his legs; he had an agenda now, a compulsion to strip her and to see her to her satisfaction, and he refused to be distracted by the temptation of her infernal magical fingers. 

As soon as the bustier was unlaced, he tossed it aside and gathered her close, sliding his hands from her waist up to her shoulder blades and pressing his cheek against the smooth planes of her belly. Hawke sank her fingers into his hair, holding him close as he rubbed his cheek against her skin. 

_Venhedis,_ her skin, her soft and golden skin: it was like velvet, a lush and brilliant sheath for this woman who was both lewd and kind, both strong and fragile at once. Fenris brushed his lips from the base of her sternum up to the sweeping curve of her breast, then ran his fingers over the tattoo that spanned her left-side ribs and shoulder blade. The contrast of ink and skin was not lost on him: the twisted ebony curls and spikes of her tattoo crept across the sweet smooth canvas of her back, and Fenris was struck as always by the uncanny match between the woman and the art that adorned her.

He brushed the swell of her breast with his nose, inhaled in time with her as she drew a tremulous breath, then slid his lips across the dusky peak of her nipple. She curved toward his mouth, her fingers curling against his nape as she slid one knee onto the bed to straddle his thigh, and Fenris caressed the underside of her breast with one thumb while sliding his other hand along the silk of her thigh. 

He tasted her nipple with careful little licks, savouring the firmness of the dusky little bud on the tip of his tongue. Hawke exhaled sharply, and her palms trailed down to his shoulders to pluck insistently at the collar of his long-sleeved tunic. 

He gently pried her hands away from his shirt and kissed the insides of her wrists, and she released a breathless little laugh. “You really prefer touching over being touched, don’t you?” she asked.

He looked up at her in surprise. He’d never thought much about it, but now that she’d mentioned it, the look and feel of Hawke’s twisting pleasure was indeed the thing that most strongly stoked his own desire.

“I prefer touching _you_ over touching anything else,” he replied, and she smiled more widely still. 

He pressed his lips to her wrist again, then the inside of her elbow, then the underside of her breast. “I want to touch you now,” he murmured. “Let me give you this.”

She breathed another little laugh. “Fenris, I will never say no to an offer like that.”

He smiled slowly at her. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Then he took her nipple into his mouth. 

Hawke released a shivering little gasp, and Fenris hooked his thumb into the edge of her smallclothes and tugged until she slid her knee off of the bed and pushed the garment down. He ran his hands over her naked body, palming the sweet curves of her bottom, then stroking the ladders of her ribs as they flowed into her waist and the angles of her hips. His fingers trailed along the inside of her thigh, slipping over the moisture that was already spreading there, and then he was caressing the swollen slickness between her legs. 

She tilted her hips toward him, her fingers clenching on his shoulders as she pressed her chest toward his ravenous lips. He ran his fingers along the length of her cleft to tenderly trace every heated fold, and soon she was riding his hand, sliding herself smoothly along his fingers as she gasped her pleasure toward the ceiling. 

He slipped the tips of his fingers along the edges of her swollen clit, and Hawke jerked and released a high-pitched little cry. The neediness and the want in her voice were as sharp and clear as ice, and Fenris treated her cry like the implicit command that it was: he abruptly rose to his feet and pushed Hawke onto the bed, then knelt at her feet and eased her legs apart. 

Her breaths grew increasingly short as he ran his nose along the inside of her right thigh and inhaled her earthy female scent. He gently licked the tender patch of skin at the apex of her thigh, and she pushed her hips up off the bed toward him. 

“Please,” she whined. “I need you.”

Her voice was sweet, but the words she breathed were slightly bitter to his ears. He didn’t want her to beg tonight. He didn’t want Hawke to have to beg for anything from him, not when all he wanted was to give her everything. 

Immediately he buried his face between her legs. She fell back on the bed with a mewl of delight, and Fenris devoted himself to her pleasure, slicking his tongue over her tender bud and listening carefully to every sound she made until she was writhing beneath his mouth. 

Hawke whimpered and clenched her fists in the blankets, her hips grinding against his face in a circular rhythm, and Fenris followed suit, swirling his tongue obediently around her clit. When she lifted her hips again, he lifted his hand and trailed one finger around her heated entrance.

“ _Ah_ \- yes, Fenris, I - _yes!_ ” Her words trailed off into a wordless wail of ecstasy as he slipped two fingers inside of her all the way to his knuckles. 

Satisfied and stimulated by her obvious delight, he growled his approval against her flesh, then swirled his fingers against her inner walls as he stroked her tender swollen clit with his tongue. When she finally gasped her climax, Fenris curled his fingers inside of her, and she arched her back dramatically like a bow. 

“F-fuck!” she cried. Her arms were raised above her head, her fists twisted in the now-dishevelled blankets, and as she came down from her climax, Fenris rose to his feet and admired the openness of her pleasure-splayed body. 

She languidly opened her eyes and pierced him with a heated stare. “Take everything off,” she demanded breathily. “I want you naked right now.”

He quickly stripped off his clothes, wanting nothing more than to give her exactly what she asked of him. He slid onto her bed, but before he had time to settle himself over her supine form, she pushed herself onto her knees. She crawled toward him and shoved his shoulders until he sat back against the head of the bed, then straddled his hips. 

She grasped his shaft and pumped her fist along his length, and Fenris choked out a pleasured gasp as he grabbed her hips. His eyes fell helplessly on the juncture of their bodies, on her slender mage’s fingers wrapped around his cock as confidently as they held a staff. She was the strongest mage he knew, the only strong mage he’d ever known, the most disciplined and controlled and _good_ , and _fasta vass_ , how she could possibly think he would ever leave her again - 

She positioned herself over his cock and took him all the way to the hilt, and Fenris groaned as she took his lips in a hard kiss. Within seconds she was rolling against him, her hips grinding hard and swift against him as she gripped the back of his neck. 

His fingers clutched her waist and as he lifted his hips to match her every thrust. She peeled away from his lips with a gasp, then leaned back and rested her hands on his shins as she continued to lever herself against him fast and hard, and Fenris simply stared at the perfection of her body. The sweet swells of her breasts, the undulation her belly as she fucked him in a careful flowing wave of motion, the dark damp curls between her legs that coyly veiled the nub of her pleasure, that sweet little bud that he so enjoyed lavishing with his tongue…

He ran his knuckles from her sternum down to the apex of her thighs, then lightly brushed one knuckle against her clit.

She jerked and pressed her own knuckles against her gasping mouth. “Oh Maker,” she whimpered. “Fenris -” 

His eyes darted to her face, and when she nodded furiously, he stroked her clit more firmly with his knuckle. 

She released a sharp and blissful little cry before biting the back of her hand, and Fenris continued to caress the sensitive little spot. Hawke’s rolling hips came to a torturously slow and steady grind, and he could see her pleasure rising, the tension in her face and the clenching of her fist against her mouth, and his own need was rising in tandem, his cock pulsing with unfulfilled need as she rolled against him so agonizingly slowly… 

And then she gasped, her other hand rising to scrabble at her own throat as she threw her head back and screamed in ecstasy. “Fenris, _fuck me!_ ” 

He didn’t hesitate, not for a single second. He grabbed her hips and dragged her onto his cock with a hard and heavenly slam.

She grabbed his shoulder, the nails of her other hand clenched against her own clavicles, and then she was crying out as he followed her command and fucked her hard. The euphoric expression on her flushed face was bringing him higher, rendering him frantic as her hands grasped his neck, her nails now gripping his arms, his teeth against her breast and her nipple teasing his tongue as she gasped and mewled in ecstasy - 

His climax crashed over him in a blinding rush. Fenris groaned and buried his face between her breasts, his arms sliding tight around her waist as he shuddered helplessly beneath her. 

She loosely wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips to the top of his head. He heaved a last shuddering sigh and lifted his face, and Hawke’s lips traced his cheekbone in a line of gentle kisses. 

She tenderly kissed the tip of his ear. “You make me happy,” she whispered. 

Fenris tightened his arms around her, then slowly turned his head to meet her lips in a kiss. But even as he languished in her easy affection, a sad truth rang in his mind: he’d taken her forgiveness for granted. 

In the wake of their blissful joining, Fenris had allowed himself believe that years of history could be rinsed clean in the space of weeks. But Hawke’s complicated reaction to Isabela’s return made him think it wasn’t that simple. 

There were some things Fenris would never be able to forgive: the lyrium-laced scars on his skin, the abuses he’d both suffered and witnessed at the hands of Tevinter slavers… Some things, in his opinion, should never be forgiven. 

Hawke was far more forgiving than he, but Fenris had a sneaking suspicion that there were some things she would never forget. 

But Hawke deserved to be happy. After all that she’d lost these past three years, and all that she’d given him - the unstinting friendship, the laughter and the hope and the pleasure of her body: after all that, she deserved to be happy. 

And Fenris would do everything in his power to make her so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is me on Tumblr! ](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) Come yell Broody Elf with me if you like! :3


	20. Call Out My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late offering for Day 8 of Fenris Appreciation Month. The prompt/theme for this day was "Leto".  
> This started off as a philosphical musing about names and then got derailed by smut. *tutting* oh, Fenris... 
> 
> Features [this codex entry about Divine Justinia.](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Divine_Justinia_V) Kind of random, I know.

Fenris turned the page. “Shall I continue?” 

“Yes, please,” Hawke said, then yawned widely. “Keep going.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Hawke, you are half-asleep. What is the point of this?”

She tucked herself more securely against his side and curled her fists under her chin. “The point is that you’re talking, and I like it. Go on, keep reading to me.”

He sighed and idly stroked her silk-clad shoulder. “Spoiled,” he muttered, then continued his careful reading. “ _Formerly the Revered Mother Dorothea of Orlais, Divine Justinia V rose to power after the death of Divine Beatrix the Third in the year 9:34 of the Dragon Age. Little is known of Dorothea's background before she joined the Chantry as an…_ ” He paused and struggled for a moment. “An in… _initiate._ ” 

Hawke sighed musically. “Fascinating,” she murmured.

He leaned away from her and shot her a pointed look. “This is dull and you know it.” 

She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms over her head. “Well, you won’t read to me anymore from _The Knight’s Favour_ , so what other choices do we have?” 

“You weren’t listening when I read from that book of trash,” Fenris drawled. “You were entirely too… distracted.”

She grinned wickedly at him, then rolled back toward him and propped her cheek on her fist. “Of course I was,” she said pertly. “Remind me again, how did that phrase go?” She dropped her voice to an exaggeratedly deep and growly register. “‘Ser Colin pulled his glove off finger by finger. His bare hand trembled as he caressed the duchess’s silken-’” 

She broke off with a squeal of laughter when Fenris pinched her waist. “That is not what I sound like,” he said haughtily. 

“You’re right. Your voice is much sexier,” she purred, and tried to sneak her fingers beneath his shirt.

Fenris grabbed her errant hand, then lifted it to his mouth and lightly nipped her wrist. “Behave,” he scolded. “I am enthralled by this fascinating book.”

Hawke groaned, then rolled onto her back again and folded her arms behind her head. “Fine. Continue the history lesson if you must.” 

Fenris smirked at her, then continued to read out loud. “ _Within the Grand Cathedral, rivals suggest that her_ …” He hesitated. 

Hawke sat up and glanced at the page. “‘Reticence’,” she said, then lay back down again.

Fenris nodded his thanks. “... _her reticence in discussing her past means she's hiding something; few of her flock, however, can imagine her as anyone other than a gentle mother of obvious faith._ ”

“Do you think the Chantry sisters ever wish they could keep their own names when they become Divine?” Hawke interrupted. 

Fenris shrugged. “I can’t imagine a name outweighs the honour of becoming the Divine,” he said. 

“Mm,” Hawke acknowledged. “But abandoning the name they grew up with… It must be strange to get used to, no?” 

He didn’t reply. In truth, he was still debating a similar issue himself.

 _Leto._ It was his ‘real’ name, the name he’d been given by his parents and the name he’d gone by until Danarius’s blasted ritual had stripped him of his memories and his former life. By all rights, Fenris should want to reclaim that name. But it didn’t feel… right. 

“Oh fuck,” Hawke said. Fenris looked down to find her hand over her mouth and her eyebrows tilted in apology.

“I’ve put my foot in it again, haven’t I?” she said. “I didn’t mean… I know you talked about this with Aveline, about not changing your names and all that. I didn’t mean to…” She trailed off, then smiled brightly. “Second names are just as good,” she said pertly. “I mean, what is a name, really?”

He smiled faintly at her clumsy apology. “It’s all right,” he said. “I have wondered the same thing myself.” 

He set the book aside and settled back against the head of the bed. “Fenris the little wolf,” he said slowly, then sneered at the belittling nickname. “A name given to me by a man I hated. Why would I want to keep it?” 

Hawke rolled onto her belly and looked at him curiously. Encouraged by her attentive silence, he continued. “I know my name was ‘Leto’. I know that, but… I do not _feel_ it.” He paused for a moment and leaned his head back pensively. “‘Fenris’ is the name I remember. This name is the one that carries the life I know.” 

He lifted his head and looked at her seriously. “There is no reclaiming that life from before,” he said quietly. “For all intents and purposes, ‘Leto’ is dead.” 

Hawke’s eyebrows creased in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

He gave her a half-smile. “Do not be sorry. I am…” He hesitated. He could say he was at peace with how things had turned out, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. The unsolved mysteries of the life he’d lost would always rub him wrong, but it was a scar he could live with. He was used to living with scars, after all. 

Finally he shrugged. “It is what it is. And I am well used to my name by now. It no longer bothers me.” 

Hawke studied him thoughtfully for a moment longer, then smiled. “Good,” she said. “Because I’m quite fond of your name. ‘Fenris.’” 

His name became a languorous drawl in Hawke’s cheeky voice. Fenris smirked at her. “I am glad you like it,” he deadpanned. “I’m surprised you haven’t shortened it like you have the others’.” 

“Oh, you mean like Av and Seb and Bels?” she said. “No, not your name. I like the way it rolls off my tongue.” She wet her lips, then said his name again with relish. “ _Fenris._ ”

A tiny shiver of heat trickled down his throat in response to her words. His name became a heated purr in Hawke’s velvety voice, imbued with satisfaction as it fell from her lips.

He reached out and brushed his thumb over those tempting scarlet lips. “I like it as well,” he told her. “I think you should say it again.” 

She bit her lower lip, and Fenris watched with great interest as her expression became suggestive. “I think you should make me say it again.”

He smiled slowly at her, then abruptly slid down the bed and rolled her onto her back with a firm hand on her hip. “Hmm,” he growled. “What should I do to make you call my name…?” 

His fingers nimbly parted her silk robe, and he listened to the catching of her breath as he traced the underside of her breast with the tips of his fingers. His thumb drifted slightly higher, teasing the border where golden skin melded into the dusky edge of her nipple.

She arched toward his hand. “Fenris…”

His name became a tender wish in Hawke’s desirous voice. He could feel his cock straightening in his breeches as he slid his hand across her sternum to tease her other breast. 

Hawke released a needy little keening sound as he brushed his thumb ever-so-lightly over the point of her nipple. “Fuck,” she whimpered.

Fenris cocked his head teasingly. “What was that?” he asked.

His hand drifted down to rest against her ribs, and her lips parted on a gasp when his hand grew still against her skin. “Fenris, please,” she whined. 

His name became a yearning plea in Hawke’s needy voice. He lowered his face to her breast and brushed his nose across her nipple, then slicked the flat of his tongue over the pebbled peak. 

“Ah - yes!” she cried, and her fingers slid into his hair as he suckled her nipple gently. 

He swirled his tongue around the dusky little point and teased the border of her other nipple with his fingers until she writhed her hips and parted her knees. “Please, Fenris, touch me,” she breathed. 

His name became a longing prayer in Hawke’s husky voice. He inhaled deeply to control his own need, then released his breath in a growl that was muffled by the curve of her flesh. He pinched her nipple, relishing her sudden cry of pleasure, then abruptly cupped her silk-covered sex with his palm. 

She thrust her hips viciously toward his hand. “Oh Maker,” she gasped. 

Fenris lifted his mouth from her breast and stared at the undulating wave of her belly as she tried in vain to rub herself against his hand. It was an exquisite sight: the shape of her body barely concealed by her silk robe and her silk smallclothes, the heated longing that twisted her lovely face as she tried to claim her pleasure from his adamantly unmoving hand. 

He lowered his lips to her ear. “What was that you said?” he taunted. 

“Fenris,” she gasped, then she moaned as he stroked her through her smallclothes. “Fenris, _please!_ ” 

His name became a lustful appeal in Hawke’s strained voice. His cock pulsed in his breeches, his body and blood thrilling in response to her words, and he clenched his teeth to keep his lust in check. He slowly slipped his hand up from the vee of her thighs, then even more slowly inched his fingertips into her smalls. 

She panted with increasing desperation as his fingers crept through her curls. He dipped his fingers lower, two fingers exploring her slick heat, and she lifted her hips more desperately and clasped the back of his neck. 

“Stop teasing me, you handsome ass,” she whined.

He grinned at her blunt demand, then lowered his mouth to hers and nipped her lower lip. “Mind your manners, Hawke,” he whispered. 

She lifted her chin and parted her lips to invite his kiss, but he moved his head away in an intentional taunt. Hawke dropped her head back into the pillows and clenched her nails against his neck. “Fenris, _please_ , just touch me!” 

His name became a carnal command in Hawke’s shameless voice, and he finally deigned to follow. He pressed his fingers into her cleft, sliding carefully through her slippery heat to seek her swollen nub.

She drew in a harsh breath, then moaned with unabashed pleasure as he stroked her clit with a light circular touch. She tugged him toward her with her hand on his neck. “Kiss me,” she begged. 

Fenris eagerly slanted his mouth over her parted lips, and then her fingers were splayed against his jaw and threading through his hair, clutching his neck again and sliding along his shoulder as he rolled his fingertips over her slick and budded center. Her palm trailed over his bicep, then down over his forearm to clasp his wrist as he played his fingers between her legs. 

He pulled away from her kiss. “Is something wrong?” 

“No,” she breathed. She pressed his hand closer to her heat, and Fenris smirked at her impatience. 

He lowered his lips to her ear again. “If there’s something you’d like me to do, you know how to ask,” he purred.

She whimpered and tugged his wrist, then groaned in frustration as his stroking fingers fell still between her legs. “Fenris,” she announced, “fuck you.”

He burst out a surprised little laugh at her rudeness. “There are many ways to interpret that, Hawke.” 

She bucked against his hand and mewled. The desperation was obvious in every straining inch of her body, so open and exquisite and tempting, and Fenris sucked in a deep breath to control his own surging desire. Her fingers were clenched around his wrist, her other hand twisted in the pillow beneath her head. She thrust her hips fruitlessly toward his hand and thrashed her head to the side, exposing the golden column of her neck, and Fenris lowered his face and nipped the side of her throat. 

The bite of his teeth seemed to push her over the edge. She instantly went limp, then arched her back like a bow and sobbed. “Please, Fenris!” 

His name became a desperate cry in Hawke’s crystalline voice. He firmly stroked her swollen little bud with the pressure she’d been wanting, and her fingers instantly went lax against his wrist, rising to clasp his shoulder as he caressed the sensitive little spot. Her breaths were short and sharp, and her neck was both sweetness and salt against his tongue, and when her breaths became whimpers and her jaw was clenching, Fenris held his own breath, blood pulsing excitedly in his ears and between his legs until -

Hawke gasped, and he slid two fingers inside of her, and she screamed his name. “Fenris, _yes!_ ”

His name became a scintillating benediction in Hawke’s wanton voice. He swirled his fingers against her heated inner walls, and she scraped her nails across her own chest and cried out, and then she was riding his hand in a hard and rolling rhythm. 

Fenris stared at the joining of her body with his hand. She was fucking his fingers with complete pleasured abandon, and he was utterly transfixed by the sight. For once he was unbothered by the white lines that traversed his palm; the path they followed into her body was sacred, the lines of lyrium and ink washed clean of their usual cursed aura as they took refuge inside the secret heated depths of his dark-haired lover’s body. 

He watched her greedily for time uncounted, enjoying her tightness around his fingers until she reached down and clasped his wrist.

Her grip was firm and stalling this time, and instantly he let his hand fall still. “Are you all right?” he rasped, then cleared his throat; his barely-stifled lust was rendering his own voice rough.

She nodded her head and panted for breath before speaking. “Yes, of course, I just…” She laughed breathlessly and tugged on his hand. “Give me a minute, I feel like I’m going to melt from the inside out.” 

He smiled and gently withdrew his fingers, then rested his palm on her belly as she tried to catch her breath. When the rise and fall of her ribs grew calm, she turned her head and met his gaze. For a moment they simply gazed at each other, and Fenris felt certain that he could sink in her adoring amber eyes if given half a chance.

Hawke smiled slowly, then released a joyful little laugh. “Maker’s balls,” she sighed. “You make me so…” She shook her head, still smiling, then rolled toward him and pressed herself against his front. 

She reached up and rubbed his earlobe gently between her fingers. “I’m crazy about you, Fenris,” she whispered.

His name… _venhedis,_ his name in Hawke’s tender voice was a thing of beauty. Warmth and joy and wellbeing simmered in his chest, mixing with the lust that was boiling just below his belly, and if he’d known it was possible to feel this peaceful and this passionate all at the same time…

Well, there was no reclaiming the time he’d wasted without her. But he certainly wouldn’t waste another minute now. 

He wrapped his arm around her waist and slid his knee between her legs. Hawke gasped softly at the indirect pressure from his knee, her eyelashes fluttering with the resurgence of her desire, and Fenris pressed his forehead to hers. “This world is crazy, Hawke. But you and I…” 

He brushed her lips with a gentle kiss. “This is the wisest choice I have ever made,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and squeal at me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) about the Broody Handsome Elf™! :3


	21. The Book of Love, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow-up on [_The Book of Love, Part I,_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/39018200) which appeared earlier in this fic. 
> 
> NSFW smut. Also including some canon dialogue between Merrill and Fenris, which IMO is the MEANEST thing he says to anyone in the whole game.

_The book of love is long and boring_  
_No one can lift the damn thing_  
_It's full of charts and facts and figures and instructions for dancing_  
_But I love it when you read to me_  
_And you: you can read me anything_

_The book of love has music in it_  
_In fact, that's where music comes from_  
_Some of it is just transcendental_  
_Some of it is just really dumb_  
_But I love it when you sing to me_  
_And you: you can sing me anything_

__

\- ["The Book of Love" by the Magnetic Fields; cover by Peter Gabriel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmnDXRJ7btE)  
*******************

A heart was a fragile thing.

Fenris knew this better than most. He was, after all, an expert in the business of ripping hearts from his enemies’ ribs. A heart was just a beating ball of muscle: firm and fibrous but ultimately delicate, and infinitely prone to being crushed.

Over the past ten years, Fenris had torn out more hearts than he could count. If his experiences had taught him anything, it was this: that the heart was a fragile thing. 

Perhaps this was why he’d always guarded his own heart so closely. 

Not that he was particularly fearful for the safety of his organs; he was well-protected by armour and lyrium both, and skilled enough to deflect most attacks. He could admit that it didn’t hurt to have Hawke’s and Anders’s healing abilities on hand, either. 

No, it wasn’t structural damage that he feared, but damage of a different sort altogether. And it was this fear that had made him shield his heart from Hawke for so damned long. 

It took years for him to realize that the shield around his heart was unnecessary. For all her jokes and her teasing and her infernal magic, Hawke’s own heart was open and steadfast, and her strong and slender hands made the perfect vessel for holding that which he kept clutched so closely to his chest. 

And so Fenris let down his guard. He’d dropped his shield and he’d opened himself to her. And that was when he’d finally seen the truth: that Hawke had held his heart all this time. 

In retrospect, it was obvious. The rest of their group had always known it. If Fenris was being honest, he could admit that he had always known it too, though he’d shunted the truth aside for fear of the pain it would bring. 

Now that he and Hawke were together, Fenris thought it was crystal clear: vulnerable and delicate though it was, his heart belonged to her, and he trusted her with it completely. 

The only person who didn’t seem to know it was Hawke herself. 

******************

Merrill was crying.

Fenris stared flatly at the back of her head as he and Varric followed Merrill and Hawke down the mountain. _She brought this on herself,_ he thought. Consorting with demons, cutting her veins for power, assuming she was strong enough to master the forces that were clearly beyond her control… Merrill had no one to blame but herself, and Fenris had no sympathy to give. 

Hawke, however, was clearly of the opposite opinion. Her arm was tight around Merrill’s shaking shoulders as they made their way to Sundermount’s base. “Let’s get you home,” Hawke said. “I’ll make you a strong cup of tea with honey. I won’t even burn the leaves this time.”

Merrill sobbed. “I wish it was yesterday,” she said. “I wish I could undo all of this!”

“Listen, Merrill, everyone fucks up now and again,” Hawke said gently. “That’s why life is so long, right? Lots of chances to do things better the next time.”

Merrill wiped her face on her arm. “She should have trusted me!” she cried. “Why couldn’t she have believed in me? If she’d helped me instead of trying to protect me…” 

Fenris scowled. He’d just known this was how Merrill would interpret these events. 

“Don’t say it, elf,” Varric muttered, but it was too late; the words were already leaving his tongue. 

“Yes, blame the Keeper,” he snapped. “You’re the one making deals with demons and dabbling in dark magic, but of course _she_ is at fault.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Hawke sing-songed. She shot him a filthy look over Merrill’s shoulder, then gave Merrill another squeeze. “Merrill, some things are worth making sacrifices for. She loved you. She knew that you were worth it.” She fished around in her pocket, then handed Merrill a dirty kerchief. “Sorry about the spider guts,” she said apologetically. “But look, at least they make a pretty pattern on the cloth.”

Merrill gave a wet little laugh, then fell quiet as they approached the Dalish camp. The silence that greeted them was heavy with hostility, even more so than the first time they’d come here, and Fenris didn’t blame them.

For once, Hawke held her tongue as she led them through the camp. Once Merrill’s former clan was behind her, the Dalish mage sobbed once more. “They’ll never forgive me,” she said. “Hawke, if you weren’t here, they would kill me.”

_Perhaps they should,_ Fenris thought acidly, but he took the unspoken advice of Varric’s raised eyebrows this time and said nothing. 

The trip back to Kirkwall was long and tense, punctuated by Merrill’s tearful outbursts and Hawke’s soothing jokes. Fenris kept his distance during the journey, and a nicely distracting discussion of weaponry and trap-making with Varric went a long way toward helping him control his temper. By the time they’d returned to the city, however, Fenris had had enough of Merrill.

She’d finally stopped crying, but she was still lamenting the Keeper’s foolishness instead of her own as they entered the alienage. “I should have paid the price, not her,” she told Hawke for the umpteenth time. “The clan needed her, and now they have neither a Keeper nor a First!”

“Marethari was a close friend, then?” Fenris interjected.

Merrill looked at him suspiciously; he hadn’t spoken to her since that morning. “She was like a mother to me,” she replied. “To all of us.”

Fenris nodded. “Then I’m sorry.” 

Hawke’s and Varric’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but Merrill’s brows furrowed into a frown. “No you’re not,” she snapped. “She’s just one more mage to you. Why would you be sorry she’s dead?”

Fenris shrugged. “I’m not sorry she’s dead. I’m only sorry she died for _you_.”

Varric winced, and Hawke’s jaw dropped in shock. 

Merrill’s big green eyes went even wider than usual. “ _What?_ ” she gasped.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the little witch. “Let’s hope the sacrifice of someone who cared for you that much wasn’t wasted.” 

Merrill’s face crumpled, and Fenris watched coldly as she turned on her heel and ran off toward her shack. 

Hawke turned to face him. “Are we sure _you_ haven’t been possessed by a rage demon?” she asked. “That was a particularly terrible thing to say.”

Fenris frowned. “You know I’m right,” he said. “She spent this entire journey deflecting all responsibility, crying as though she played no part in this.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You feel sorry for her now, but you know that I am right.” 

Hawke pursed her lips, then took a step away. “Well, I have a promise of unburnt tea to fulfill. Varric? Are you coming?” She turned and sauntered off toward Merrill’s home. 

“Right behind you,” he called, then shot Fenris a rueful look. “That was some smooth handling,” the dwarf said. 

Fenris folded his arms. “I am not wrong,” he insisted. “Can you not smell the corruption of the mages in this city? Hawke is the only one who remains immune. It cannot last.”

Varric grimaced and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been breathing through my mouth these days, truth be told.” He waved his hand before turning toward Merrill’s house. “Good luck with your argument tonight,” he called over his shoulder. “I think you’ll need it.”

Fenris scowled at Varric’s unnecessary warning, then made his way to Hawke’s house to await her return. This was nowhere near the first time he and Hawke had disagreed, and it would not be the last. 

But this time was different from the others. Hawke was too attached to Merrill, too blinded by her fondness for the blasted blood mage. Fenris knew Hawke’s position on Merrill’s and Anders’s freedom, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t contest it, especially in the face of this growing danger. 

Hours later, he was lounging on Hawke’s bed with her dog-eared copy of _Siege Harder_ when she opened her bedroom door. She stopped short for a moment when she saw him, then breezed into the room and began undressing. 

He sat up and put aside the book. “I don’t suppose you convinced Merrill to see the error of her ways?”

Hawke carefully lay her coat on the desk chair, then began unbuckling her belt with her back to him. “She’s going to focus on helping the elves in the alienage,” she said. “It’ll be a good change for her.” 

Fenris grunted. Her lack of a direct answer translated clearly into a _no_. “Hawke, she is becoming more dangerous with every passing year. A blood mage who refuses to take responsibility for the horrors she’s wrought? She might as well be a magister.” 

She set her belt aside, then peeled her sleeveless tunic over her head. “Don’t be silly. The Vints don’t really accept elven magisters, do they? I thought that was just a fairytale.” 

He scowled. “I’m being serious. If Merrill continues in this vein, it’s only a matter of time before she turns on _you_ for the chance to bring back her blasted heritage.”

Hawke shoved her trousers down and kicked them aside, then swiftly crawled onto the bed and straddled his hips. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded. He was thrown by her sudden presence on his lap, but his hands rose instinctively to grasp her hips even as he tried to lean away from her. 

She ran her palms firmly over his chest, then unbuckled her bustier and threw it on the floor. “I think you’re wrong,” she said. “And you think I’m wrong. What else is there to say?” 

He tore his eyes away from her dusky nipples and frowned. “Hawke-”

She kissed him, and the arguments were instantly driven from his mind. His traitorous lips parted for her as she licked his lower lip, and suddenly his palms were smoothing over her breasts, her hips were pressing into him and rendering him dizzy, and then her lips were at his ear. 

“ _This_ is how I’ve wanted to argue with you for years,” she whispered. “You can fight with me all you want, Fenris. I will always just want to fuck you instead.”

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His cock was pulsing, and her hands were beneath his shirt, her fingers tracing his nipple, _fasta vass_ , why did it feel so good -

She pinched his nipple and rolled her groin against his lap, and he released a pleasured moan. “I still think you’re wrong,” he gasped. 

She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “That’s the spirit,” she breathed, then pulled his head to her breast.

He took her nipple in his mouth and suckled hard until she gasped, then flipped her onto her back. At the back of his mind, Fenris knew this wouldn’t solve the problem; it was a smokescreen, a distraction, Hawke’s obvious attempt to draw him from his righteous anger.

He stretched her arms over her head, then smoothed his fingers along the inside of her thigh. As far as distractions went, it was a damned good one.

**************

A couple of days later, Fenris was polishing his weapons and armour when Hawke strolled into his mansion with her hands in her pockets. 

She dropped a kiss on his hair, then sat beside him at the table and pulled off her boots. “Busy day?” she asked, her eyes flitting over the weapons laid tidily on the table.

“Quite,” he said ruefully. “But I would rather hear about yours. What foolish errand did Anders talk you into?” She’d spent the day helping Anders with some task, and Fenris had been only too happy to sit this one out. 

She smiled crookedly and rifled around with her pouch belt. “You first. Of all your long, hard swords here, which one do you like to polish the most?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, then pulled her flask from her belt and took a deep swig. 

Fenris studied her carefully, amusement ceding to suspicion as she lowered the flask only to lift it again and take another long gulp. He reached over and gently took the flask from her hand. “Hawke, tell me what happened.” 

“What makes you think something’s happened?” She reached for the flask, then slumped her elbows on the table when he placed it just out of her reach. 

“You’re gulping your brandy as though it is water,” he said flatly.

“I always drink my brandy that way!” Hawke retorted. “Come on, you know I bathe in brandy. I marinate myself in it. It’s the air I breathe and the, er, blood that runs through my veins?”

Fenris watched her with growing concern as the shit-eating smile slowly slipped from her face. Finally she ran her fingers through her short dark hair. “Anders told me he’d found a way to split himself off from Justice. Or Vengeance, or whatever his little friend is called.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “I think we should call it ‘Venjustice’ from now on. Everyone loves a good portmanteau, don’t you think?”

Fenris gaped at her. “He found a way to split himself from the demon?” he demanded.

Hawke sighed dramatically. “Fine, no portmanteau. He said he’d found a potion that would let him cleave himself from the spirit without either of them being hurt. So we go to the sewers to collect poop for the potion. And it wasn’t so bad-” 

“What?” Fenris said flatly.

She laughed. “Trust me, that wasn’t the bad bit. Then he drags me off to collect some drakestone, and then we go back to his clinic, and…” She sighed and rubbed her forehead, and in a rush she said, “Then he tells me the whole potion thing was a ruse, and he asks me to come to the Chantry and distract Elthina while he went off to go do… something.”

He stared at her with growing horror. “What kind of ‘something’?” he asked.

Hawke shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said. “He wouldn’t tell me. Fenris, I begged him to tell me what the fuck was going on, he wouldn’t say a word. It must be some kind of trap, but-” 

Fenris shoved himself up from the table and strode off toward his bedroom. 

There was a rough scraping sound of wood on stone as Hawke pushed her chair back from the table and hurried after him. “Where are you going?”

He stalked over to his armour rack. “I am going to speak to the mage,” he snarled. “He has asked his last ill-fated favour of you. I will not see you drawn into whatever it is that he has in mind. He _will_ undo it.” 

Hawke grabbed the gauntlet from his hand. “If you’re going to talk to him, why do you need your armour?” 

“Why do you let him drag you into these things?” Fenris shouted. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, thrumming like a war drum and goading his anger forth. “He asked you to be a distraction. A _distraction,_ Hawke. That is what _we_ do when we are stealing from people or setting traps of our own. What did you think he was going to do? Did you not _think?_ How could you be so-” He stopped himself and clenched his jaw. 

Hawke lifted her chin. “Go on,” she said. “Go ahead and finish that sentence. Or shall I finish it for you? How could I be so stupid?” 

“Frankly, yes!” he snapped. He reached for his other gauntlet, but Hawke placed herself in front of his armour stand. 

He glared at her. “You are not a stupid woman, but you are acting like one,” he said. “First Merrill, and now this? This is - how could you -” 

“I will talk to him,” she interrupted. “I’ll get through to him. I will,” she insisted at Fenris’s skeptical scowl. She folded her arms and gave him a pointed look. “Besides, we both know that your particular brand of ‘talking’ won’t help. He’ll go through with whatever he has planned just to spite you.”

“He is an abomination!” Fenris bellowed. “You can’t talk to an abomination!”

“He is my family!” Hawke yelled back.

Fenris recoiled in surprise. In the seven years that he’d known her, this was the first time she had ever yelled at him.

Hawke seemed to realize it too, as she took a deep breath and spoke again in a calmer tone. “Anders is my family. So is Merrill, and Aveline and Isabela and all the rest of our beautiful idiots. I’d rather stand witness to their idiocy than deny knowledge of it.” She tried for a smile, but it came out as a grimace. “Support in the face of complete fuckery. That’s what family is for, right?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Fenris snarled. “I don’t have any family.” 

Her face fell instantly. “What about me?” she said faintly. “Am I just chopped liver, then?”

“Of course not,” he said impatiently. “You are different. You know that.” 

She stared at him silently, and as his rage began to cool, he finally noticed the vulnerability in her hunched posture and her lovely copper eyes. 

She stepped away from his armour rack and wandered toward the fireplace. “Fenris…” she said softly, then stopped and stared at the fire for a moment before continuing. “Things are getting bad here,” she said. “The mages and the fucking Templars… It’s bad, and it’s going to get worse. Meredith and Orsino, the pressure from both of them, it’s…” 

She turned to face him. Her hands were twisting together nervously, and her eyes looked bigger than ever in the paleness of her face. “I don’t want to choose a side,” she said. “I never did. But they’re… everything is forcing me to pick. And I just…” She took another slow breath through her nose, and Fenris frowned at her with growing concern. Why did she look so scared?

She met his eyes again. “I’ll probably side with the mages,” she said bluntly. 

“I know that,” he said. He hoped he sounded less angry than he felt. “What of it?”

She rubbed her thumb compulsively. “When - if - when that happens, what are you going to do?”

He stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She nibbled her lower lip in silence, then took another deep breath. “Are you going to leave me?” she asked. 

All at once, his anger was gone. He strode over to her and grabbed her twisting hands. “Why would you ask me that?” he demanded. 

“Because you always leave,” she blurted. “When I do mage things, or help the mages or whatever, I know you don’t like it and that’s fine, it’s really fine, you don’t have to agree with everything I do, but I -” She broke off and pressed her lips together hard, and a tear ran down her face. 

And there it was: the damage he’d done to her over the past seven years, laid bare in this moment of vulnerability. 

The sudden remorse winded him. Fenris cupped her face in his hands, this precious face that he loved more than any fucking thing in this world. “Hawke,” he said softly. “I will never leave you again. I thought that was clear. I… These arguments… I know I have walked away before, but I am trying not to do that anymore.” 

She pulled her face from his hands, even as her own hands twisted in the front of his tunic. “You left just the other day,” she retorted. 

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“With Merrill,” she said plaintively. “Varric and I went into her house, and you just left.” 

He sighed and ran his palms along her arms, torn between fondness and exasperation. “Of course I left. You wouldn’t want me there while you were comforting _her_. And I was at your house when you came home.” 

She lightly punched his belly. “I still wanted you with me!” she said. “Fenris, I would rather have you there making snide remarks in my ear than walking away. I mean, I enjoy staring at that ass when you go, but-” 

“Hawke,” he interrupted. “You can side with your blasted mages. I don’t like them, and I don’t think they can govern themselves without falling to corruption. But that doesn’t change my wanting to be with you.” 

She stared at him. “Really?” she said faintly. 

“Yes,” he said. He tenderly stroked her jawline and offered her a half-smile. “Besides, someone needs to tell you when you’re being foolish. I will gladly fill the role.” 

Her beautiful face twisted, and Fenris gathered her close as she sobbed into his tunic. “I thought I’d made myself clear,” he murmured. “Any future without you is not worth having. I will be at your side.”

She gripped the back of his shirt more tightly, and he hugged her hard until her shaking began to lessen. A long moment later, she pulled away slightly. “I’m being stupid,” she sniffled. “I just…” She laughed wetly and wiped her face on his shirt. “You’re right about Merrill’s house, you would have been horrible if you’d come inside. I’m just… being stupid. I know you’re not…” She swallowed hard. “I know you’re not planning to leave.” She laughed again, then wandered over to his bed and sat down. “Just getting used to it all, you know.”

She wasn’t meeting his eyes. Despite her words, she wasn’t entirely convinced that he wouldn’t leave. 

Fenris frowned as he walked over to join her. He understood why Hawke was having trouble believing him; pain was more potent than pleasantness, and he was still coming to understand how much his frequent departures had hurt her. 

But that was over now. He loved Hawke. The only thing he’d ever been completely certain of was his need to be with her. How to convince her of this…?

He sat heavily beside her on the bed, and a dry crinkling noise drew his attention. He glanced down and saw the corner of a piece of parchment poking out from under the mattress. 

Suddenly he knew. Under the bed - the pile of papers he’d hoarded there, scribblings of angst and confusion and undeniable love - 

He knelt beside the bed and shoved up the edge of the mattress, and Hawke squeaked with surprise. “What-!”

He pulled out a sheaf of papers. No, that was only part of it; more of it must be further under the bed…

He stood and offered her his hand. “Stand up for a moment.”

She raised one eyebrow as he pulled her to her feet. “This is odd. Some new sex game? A girl can only hope.” 

He rewarded her feeble joke with a distracted smirk, then heaved the mattress onto its side. 

Hawke gaped at the messy pile of parchment under the mattress. “What is that?” she exclaimed. “Did you steal a manuscript from Varric?”

“No,” he said. He gathered the papers together into a messy pile, and only then did he realize how much there was: it had to be about a hundred pages of double-sided text. He supposed this made sense; this was three years’ worth of almost-daily entries, varying in length from pages of ranting to just a few lines of thought.

This was three years’ worth of his feelings for Hawke, feelings that he’d been unable to share with her because of cowardice and reluctance and wanting to be better before giving himself to her. But as Fenris now knew, when was it really the best time to tell someone that you loved them with every fiber of your heart?

He dropped the mattress roughly, then sat on the bench by the fireplace and began sorting through the papers. Thankfully, the messy stack was still roughly chronological - he’d begun dating the entries after the first week or so - and as he attempted to order them, he couldn’t help but reread a few phrases. 

_... watching you run hedfirst into a groop of Karta. Such a stoopid moove. So dam impulsive. But your laff when its over just makes me want to grab you and kiss your foolish smiling lips._

He winced internally at the spelling errors, but as he continued to flick through the pages, the errors declined, and his conviction surged higher. Hawke needed to read this. 

_... happy you were wen Meril painted your nails with her dam majic pigments. For my part, I just imajined your fingernails on my chest. I wish I didnt remember how good it felt. I wish I kud forget, but its all that plays thruw my mind at night._

_... why cant I just be with you? Why cant I be the man who wakes up beside you in your bed holding you and warding away the tears. Its fucking unfair. Fucking Danarius and all of his ilk. You said I was not ruined, but you were wrong. Your mother is dead and you lie there in your bed alone and I am here alone and what the fuck is the point_

_... searching for Varania. I want to tell you, Hawke, I wish I could tell you what Im doing, but I have to do this on my own. You will have nothing but the best version of me._

_... your skirt sliding higher on your thighs, and all I could imajine was slipping my hand under it and feeling your pulse with my fingers. That’s why I left, don’t you see? I had to go. I couldn’t look at you any more. But now the thought of you torchures me as I lie in bed with my hand in my_

He flicked through the pile of parchment until he reached the last page and the very last entry. 

_Varania will be here soon. Maybe even tomorrow. I hope she has the answers I’ve needed. I hope… Damn it, Hawke, I hope. It’s all your fault._  
_Do you remember the promise you made me? I have worn this promise for years. I have worn it and washed it and slept with it. The scarf you tied around my wrist has bound me to you, and you never knew it, because I never spoke of it. But this is a binding that I want._  
_I am not a pet. I am not a slave. You would say I belong to nobody but myself, but you would be wrong._  
_I am yours. No matter what the future brings, I will be yours in every version of it._

Hot water seemed to fill his chest and throat as he reread his own words. It was true, all of it, every word of it. 

Hawke sat gingerly on the bench beside him. “What is that?” she asked softly. “Is that… that’s your handwriting. Did you write all of that?”

He lifted his eyes to meet her wonder-filled face. “Yes,” he said. He collected the papers into a reasonably tidy stack, then handed them to her. “Here. This is yours now.”

She took the stack dumbly. “What is it?”

He stroked her cheek. “That is… me,” he said. “Things I could not say, so I wrote them instead.” 

She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes to the thick stack in her hands. “How long have you been doing this?” she said faintly. 

He shrugged. “Since you began teaching me the runic alphabet. Forgive my atrocious spelling in the first… well, the first half of it. I did not know how to spell.”

She lifted her eyes to his face. “You wrote an entire book for me?”

“I did not write it for you,” he told her. “It was… to control myself. But I don’t need it anymore.” He waved at the thick sheaf of parchment. “That belongs to you now. I hope it will make you understand.” 

“Understand what?” she said. 

He cupped her face and gazed seriously into her eyes. “That I am not going anywhere,” he said, then gently kissed her lips. 

She kissed him back, then watched with wide eyes as he rose to his feet. “I will go back to my weapons,” he said. “You should read that, or at least some of it.”

“Okay,” she whispered, then folded her legs and began to read the first page. 

Fenris returned to his table and continued cleaning his gear. Once he’d finished with that, he practiced with his throwing knives, then did some reading himself. He brought Hawke some tea and toast at one point, and she flashed him a huge but distracted smile, but other than that, he left her to her reading as the afternoon trickled on. 

Late that evening, he was dozing at the table with a book on his lap when Hawke brushed her fingers over his shoulder. 

He jolted awake and rubbed his eyes. “Had enough for now?”

“I finished it,” she corrected. 

He lowered his hands and stared at her. “The entire thing? How fast-”

She pushed the book off of his lap and straddled him. “I love you,” she said. 

He knew she loved him. He’d always known. But if there had been any doubt in his mind, it would have been wiped away by the blinding affection and joy in her face.

Fenris slid his hands around her waist. “I know,” he said. “You should know I feel the same. You shouldn’t be plagued by groundless doubts -” 

“I don’t doubt it. Not anymore,” she said. She cradled his neck in her palms, and Fenris admired the clarity of her beautiful smile. “That book… Maker’s fucking breath, Fenris, that book was…” She wiped an errant tear from her slightly puffy eyes. “You were thinking all of that for three years and you didn’t say anything? How…? I would have exploded from the strain.”

“More than three years,” he corrected. “I had no way to jot it down before you taught me to write.”

“‘Jot it down’? Fenris, those words… everything you wrote…” She hiccuped and wiped her eyes again, then beamed at him. “Don’t tell Varric, but I’ve never read anything so beautiful. Or so angsty!” 

“‘Angsty’,” he muttered. He slid his hands idly along her thighs. “I have accepted ‘broody’, and now I’m angsty as well?”

“You aren’t anymore,” she said. She swept her thumbs along the angles of his jaw. “Now you’re… a man in love.” 

He met her eyes. “Yes,” he said seriously. “And I am yours.” 

Another tear ran down her cheek as she beamed at him, her expression soft and hot and brilliant all at once. “Fuck’s sake, Fenris, I love you so damned much.” She laughed again. “Such shitty words compared to all the words you gave to me…”

He shook his head. “It is enough, Hawke. It’s more than enough.” He didn’t need her words, and he never had. Hawke’s love had always been obvious in more important ways. It was obvious in her open smile and her gentle hands, her easy jokes and her awkward comforting. It was obvious in the assistance and support she’d always offered without hesitation. He’d carried her love for years in the crimson scarf she’d tied around his wrist. Her years of endless patience spoke more loudly of her love than any words she could ever say. 

Within months of their first meeting, Hawke had bared her heart to him. Now, many years and too many tears later, Fenris was honoured to exchange his own heart for hers. 

He pulled her close with a gentle hand on her neck, and then they were kissing, kissing more slowly and deeply than he’d ever kissed her before. He lifted her arms around his neck and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was pressed flush against him as close as she could possibly be, but still he wanted her closer, wanted to be pressed to every single heated inch of her. 

Without breaking from the fullness of her lips, Fenris slid his hands around to her front and began to unbutton her shirt. His tongue stroked the heat of her mouth as his fingers nimbly worked their way down to the hem of her shirt.

Hawke pulled the garment off, and their hands bumped together as he reached for her bustier while she reached for his tunic. She smiled against his lips, and together they laughed, a joyful and husky sound that matched the thrill of joy in his chest. 

He leaned back and pulled his tunic off, then wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up as he rose from his chair. “I need you,” he whispered against her lips. 

She carefully traced his lower lip with her tongue, then clasped his shoulders for support as he walked them back toward the bedroom. “I always need you,” she said. “All the time. I always want to be close to you.”

“You are. You will be,” Fenris promised. He fell onto the bed with his dark-haired lover beneath him.

He cradled her head in his hands and savoured the heat of her chest and belly against his own. Her arms and legs surrounded him in a tight embrace, her back arching to press her heated curves closer to his body, but there were too many clothes between them when he wanted nothing there to keep them apart. 

He kissed her again, coaxing her tongue to tangle with his own while he roughly unlaced his breeches and shoved them down with one hand. His other hand was in her hair, and her hands were fumbling in the narrow space between their bodies, trying to unlace her bustier. 

He pressed himself into her groin, desperately eager to feel her and desperately disappointed by the barrier of her clothes. With enormous reluctance, he lifted himself onto one elbow and reached down to unbutton her trousers. 

Hawke whimpered as he peeled his lips away. “No, come back,” she whined, then finally parted her bustier and shoved it away. 

“I will,” he panted. He lifted his pelvis slightly higher to better access her trouser buttons. 

She mewled with distress as his hips rose away from her, then gasped as he pressed his cheek between her breasts and caressed her skin with his lips. Then her hands were between them, pushing his fingers away to pluck at her own trouser buttons. 

Fenris clasped her face again and kissed her hard. The knuckles of her busy hands brushed against his bare abdomen in an inadvertent tease, and he groaned into her mouth. “Hawke…”

“Almost,” she panted. He waited for a tense moment, biting his lip as her hands brushed his skin, then finally she relaxed. “Done,” she said. “Get them off-”

He pushed himself back on his knees and swiftly dragged her trousers off, then fell back into her soft and slender form. 

Hawke was ravenous, her teeth tugging lightly at his lip and her nails pressing into his back as she twisted her hips toward him, but Fenris didn’t mind, for he was ravenous too. He hungered for her, for the taste of her skin and her sweat and her incessant adoration, and perhaps he’d been starving his entire life until he’d met her, because nothing had ever felt this good and this _right_ : her arms around him, her legs around his waist and the heat of her chest pressing into his, the sheer and desperate want that rolled from them both - he’d never had anything in his life that had ever felt this… _equal._

He pumped his cock against her, sliding his length against the heat-soaked apex of her thighs, and then he was breathing in the ecstatic moan that ghosted from her lips as he sank into her all the way to the hilt. 

“Rynne,” he groaned, then kissed her deeply as he moved inside of her. His arms were curled beneath her, his hands cradling her shoulder blades, and in some delirious part of his mind he almost wished he had more hands to feel every inch of her. 

She suckled his tongue gently, then broke from his kiss only to gasp against his parted lips. Her hips rose and rolled to meet him, both of them gasping together with every careful thrust. Despite their torrid need and the haste with which they’d tumbled onto his bed, the love they made now was slow and sweet, and Fenris simply savoured the slickness and the passion of Hawke’s pliant body beneath his own. 

Here, in this moment, he was as full and complete as he could possibly be. He was enrobed in the heat of her, his lungs full of her scent and his ears filled with her pleasured breaths, and his chest felt almost _too_ full with this exquisite ache of affection that seemed both to squeeze his heart and lift it high at the same time. 

They shifted and slid together in a tangle of sweat-laced arms and legs. Her hands were in his hair, and one of his hands was smoothing along the curve of her bottom, and the kisses: so many kisses, tender and languorous and slow, their lips meeting and melding until he could almost breathe for her. When his climax came, it was gradual and heavy and deep, as deep as the kisses she gave and as deep as the devotion that filled his chest, and he clasped his arms around her more tightly than ever as he breathed his pleasure against her neck. 

They lay side-by-side in the warmth of afterglow, legs still tangled and his arm tight around her waist. Her wrist rested against his neck as she rubbed his earlobe idly with her fingers. “What should we do about Anders?” she whispered. 

Fenris gazed fondly into her amber eyes. Her use of _‘we’_ was not lost on him. He pulled her a little bit closer, then brushed her nose with his own. “Do what you think best,” he murmured. “Talk to him if you must.”

She wet her lips nervously. “Are you sure?”

He shrugged. “It was always your decision, Hawke. Your family, your choice. I will let him live. For now.” He smirked faintly. 

She tutted and pinched his earlobe hard before resuming the soothing rubbing of her finger and thumb. “They’re your family too, you know,” she said softly. 

He shrugged again. “I suppose.” He would not accept Merrill or Anders as such, but the others: Varric and Isabela, Aveline and Donnic and Sebastian… 

_Support in the face of complete fuckery_ , Hawke said. It certainly qualified their little group. And truth be told, they had been there for him in that capacity too.

Templars and apostates, demons and dragons, slavers and thieves and blood magic… Their idiotic group had faced it all, and still they were together. And leading the charge from one mishap-filled adventure to the next was Hawke. 

She held his heart in her magic-wielding hands, and she’d entrusted him with hers in turn. Here and now, bound by Hawke’s heated limbs and bathed in the glow of her infinite love, Fenris had everything he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm Pikapeppa on Tumblr!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) Come pop by and say hello :) xoxo


	22. My Body Is A Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @the-tevinter-biscuit's Fenris Appreciation event on Tumblr. The prompt for this was "Worship" for Dec21, but it kind of included "Something New" for Dec20, so I'm posting it today. 
> 
> NSFW smut.

_My body is a cage that keeps me_  
_From dancing with the one I love_  
_But my mind holds the key_  
\- [My Body Is A Cage, by Arcade Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhhZdune_5Q)  
******************

Fenris splashed some water on his face, then rubbed his face dry and wandered out of Hawke’s en-suite bathroom. He yawned widely as he made his way toward the bed; he was genuinely worn out. They’d spent the day chasing down a series of odd scrolls that were imbued with some kind of curse. Fenris had advised Hawke to stop after the first scroll had summoned a crowd of undead, but for reasons that he would never quite understand, Hawke had found the attack highly amusing and had begged him and Varric and Isabela to accompany her while she sought the remaining blasted scrolls. Fenris suspected that the whole hare-brained affair had something to do with avoiding Meredith and Orsino, but it could just as easily have been Hawke’s ridiculous sense of adventure at play.

Needless to say, it had been a very long day, and Fenris was quite looking forward to falling facefirst into the pillows. 

He idly lifted the edge of his sleeping tunic to scratch his stomach, and Hawke sat up attentively in the bed. 

He raised one eyebrow at her as he dropped the hem of his shirt. “What?”

She wilted slightly and rested her elbows on her knees. “Oh. I thought you were taking off your shirt.”

Fenris fondly shook his head. “Is there ever anything else on your mind?” he drawled.

“Of course not,” she replied pertly. “Have you seen you?”

He smirked. “And the flattery continues. You may tire of looking at me someday.”

Hawke snorted skeptically and shot him a very heated look. “I repeat: have you seen you?” she purred.

Fenris chuckled. Even after a day like the one they’d just had, she was still completely irrepressible. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, and Hawke shifted out from under the covers and began to knead his shoulders through his shirt. “Seriously. Why don’t you ever sleep naked?” she asked.

He blissfully closed his eyes as her fingers slid along the back of his neck. “I prefer sleeping in clothes,” he mumbled.

She huffed quietly. “Why? You like it when I sleep naked. Well, mostly naked. Why don’t you join me? More efficient sharing of body heat and all that.”

Her voice was humorous as always, but Fenris sighed. The answer was more complicated than she perhaps realized. 

In truth, Fenris didn’t much like the sight of his own naked body. His earliest memories revolved around the agony of living in his own skin. The abuses he’d taken, both from these cursed tattoos and from Danarius’s unwanted attentions, had left him with a bitter view of his own corporeal form. He could still vividly recall the vitriolic hate he used to have for his mutilated body. He’d hated the fact that he was so powerless against the pain - that inability to control when that pain would start or stop. 

Learning to separate himself from his body had helped. For a very long time, Fenris had pretended his body was a separate entity from who he was. It was easier and far less painful to mentally withdraw from his own flesh and to operate as though this marred body of his was an object he controlled from afar. His body was a powerful tool, he told himself; it was a means to an end, a weapon he could use to eliminate his enemies. If it was injured or abused or broken, it wasn’t _Fenris_ who suffered those things; it was just the body he inhabited, and he could simply slap a salve or a potion on the pain and move on to fighting his next foe.

Things were different now. _He_ was different now. He hadn’t felt the need to dissociate from his body for years. Fenris was no longer disgusted by the sight of his skin, and he knew full well that Hawke had played a major part in that change of heart. She’d shown him time and time again that there was value and pleasure - _venhedis_ , the pleasure - in being very firmly grounded in his own flesh and blood. 

But there were elements of his past that would never be washed clean. In his most unguarded moments, in that fragile limbo between waking and sleep, the agony lingered still. Fenris was more at ease with his body than he used to be, but he knew he would never be completely copacetic with the curling white lines that trailed across his tawny skin. 

Hawke’s hands went still on his shoulders. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked. 

“No. Your question is fair.” He sighed again, then glanced at her over his shoulder. “You enjoy being naked,” he said bluntly. 

She barked out a laugh, then continued to rub the knots in his shoulders. “All right, you’re going to have to explain yourself a bit more than that.”

He tilted his head forward as he enjoyed her massage. “You are at ease with yourself,” he said. “The way you stretch out naked in bed, and the way you dance… You live well in your own body, Hawke. It’s an extension of who you are. I am not fortunate enough to enjoy that degree of comfort.”

Her hands went still again. “But I thought… You said the tattoos didn’t really hurt anymore. I thought…”

“They don’t,” he agreed. “Not usually. But physical pain is not the only type that lingers. These markings are a constant reminder of that.” He glanced down at his palms briefly, then closed his fists. “I… don’t like looking at them unless it is necessary.”

Hawke didn’t answer; instead, she rested her cheek on his back and was quiet for a time. Her hands eventually resumed their movement, sliding slowly down the length of his back and up again. 

Finally she spoke. “You like it when I touch you, though.” 

He nodded. “I do.”

She was quiet again for a moment as her hands slid slowly from his shoulders to the base of his spine. Then she slid her fingers under the hem of his shirt.

He inhaled slowly as her palms smoothed their way up the sides of his spine and over his bare shoulder blades. “You like being naked with me,” she murmured.

Her lips were close to the back of his neck, but not quite close enough to touch, and goosebumps spilled down his spine at the nearness of her mouth. “Yes,” he breathed. 

She pressed her fingertips more firmly into his skin as she ran her hands down his back once more, and then her hands were gathering the bottom of his shirt. 

Fenris leaned forward as she rolled his shirt up, then obediently lifted his arms so she could pull it off. Hawke splayed her palms on his shoulder blades, and he closed his eyes as she pressed her lips to the juncture of his shoulder and his neck. 

Her hands were warm and firm, and Fenris savoured their heat as her lips travelled along the line of his shoulder. “You enjoy being in your own body too, Fenris,” she said. “Maybe not all the time, but you do.” 

“Sometimes,” he muttered. “Not as much as you enjoy your own.” Her hands were sliding down his sides, her fingers a firm and pleasant distraction as they moved across his ribs.

She chuckled softly, then tugged his earlobe with her lips. “We’ll see about that,” she whispered. 

He didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied by the comfort of her touch. Her slender mage’s hands were smoothing up along his back, and then her fingers were sliding down his arms to curl around his biceps in a warm and gentle grip. 

The mattress shifted as she shuffled closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind in a tight embrace, and Fenris happily leaned into the warmth of her bare chest. Hawke was pressed against him from his hips to his head, and the heated silk of her golden skin against his own was more soothing than any blanket he’d ever felt. 

She nuzzled his cheekbone. “I love your body,” she told him. “I’m going to make you love it too.”

“How do you plan to do that?” he mumbled. 

She smiled against his cheek. “You’ll see,” she whispered. Then she began to loosen her arms.

He reached up and wistfully stroked her forearm as she released him. He was torn between wanting to remain in her arms, and wanting to see how she planned to make him love this body that he’d only recently come to tolerate. 

She slid off of the bed and stood in front of him. “Take off your trousers,” she said. 

He lifted one teasing eyebrow. “Just like that? No preamble?”

She tilted her head and smiled cheekily. “All of this is preamble, you handsome fool,” she retorted. “Now are you going to get naked or not?”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled, then rose to his feet and unlaced his loose linen trousers. Before he could push the trousers off, Hawke stepped close and took his hands in hers.

She gently pushed his hands away, then knelt at his feet and slowly rolled his trousers down.

Fenris bit his lip and inhaled slowly. His cock was already at half mast from the press of her naked chest against his back, but the sight of his nearly-naked lover on her knees was enough to bring him to full attention. 

For once, however, Hawke’s attention was not on his manhood. She tossed his trousers aside, then slid her hands up his shins. “I always go straight for your cock,” she said, almost as though she could read his mind. She lifted her chin and smiled up at him. “Maybe that’s a mistake. I’ve been missing out on a lot.”

“Like what?” he said distractedly. When she tilted her chin up like that, her lips were mere inches from his shaft.

“Like how jacked your calves are,” she said. She smoothed her hands over his calves, then slid her palms carefully up his legs and along the backs of his thighs. 

Fenris closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. Her touch was firm so as not to tickle, but somehow it was still teasing, sparking a heated interest just beneath his skin. 

She slid her palms down to the backs of his knees, then around to the front of his legs, and Fenris inhaled sharply through his nose as she lightly stroked his inner thighs. Her fingers crept higher, closer to his balls, then veered away to stroke his thighs again, and he expelled his breath in a rush. “Hawke…” he gritted. 

“Shh. Don’t talk. Just feel this,” she murmured, and Fenris tried to obey. He focused on the heat of her hands, the firm pressure of her palms contrasted with the delicacy of her fingers as they trailed up his inner thighs again, higher and closer to the juncture of his legs, so close he was ready to beg...

She stroked the sensitive skin of his balls, and he tilted his hips forward in supplication. “Hawke-”

“Fenris, just feel,” she coaxed. Then she pressed her lips to the base of his cock. 

He groaned and tilted his hips toward her mouth, but she moved her lips away, and Fenris exhaled with growing desperation as she gently kissed his hipbone. It was so easy for her to say, for her to command him to feel, but all of this _feeling_ was almost overwhelming. The carefulness of her firm caresses was a tantalizing torture, and the way she was touching him - curious and exploratory, almost as though she had never truly seen his naked body before… 

He’d never been touched like this, not even by her in all their torrid loving. Despite the need that was pounding more steadily through his veins with every breath, there was something about her touch that didn’t feel like mere sex. It felt… sacred somehow.

Hawke’s lips travelled in a slow and loving line from his hip back to his shaft, and then she was nuzzling the steely length of his cock with her cheek, brushing her slightly parted lips along his length, and Fenris could barely breathe. Her lips were so soft, so fucking soft and sweet and sacrosanct, and as much as he wanted her to take him deep, he couldn’t bring himself to break the stillness of this slow and quiet bliss. 

She slid her hand between his legs and carefully cupped his balls, and Fenris groaned out loud, but he knew better than to speak her name again. He clenched his jaw and his fists, his body tense and taut with want as she nuzzled his cock from base to head. 

Then she carefully licked the drop of dew from the tip of his cock, and he couldn’t stop himself. “Hawke, please,” he blurted. 

She traced her tongue around the head of his cock, then smoothed her palms from his hips down to his knees. “Lie down,” she said. 

He quickly complied, sliding onto the bed and parting his legs as Hawke came to kneel between them. Then she took his wrists and pressed them into the pillows above his head. “Keep your hands up,” she told him. “I don’t want you touching me.”

“Why not?” he demanded. His greedy eyes were roving over her body, drinking in the dusky pearls of her nipples and the hollow of her navel before resting for a brief resentful moment on her smallclothes. His fingers were itching to drag her smalls away and delve inside of her with the same care she’d shown to him. 

“Because you always touch me,” she said. “This is about you. You’ll distract me if you touch.” 

He scowled at her, but her hot and cheeky smirk was enough to make him relent. He dropped his head back in the pillow and exhaled heavily. “Fine,” he growled.

Hawke chuckled and released his wrists. Then she leaned over him and kissed the inside of his wrist, and in so doing, her breast brushed against his cheek. 

Fenris burst out a helpless little moan and turned his face toward her breast, his lips instinctively seeking her budded nipple, but to his intense disappointment, she pulled away. “Fenris,” she scolded. “I said don’t touch. Just focus on yourself, okay?”

Despite her rebuke, her voice was distinctly breathless with lust, and Fenris’s passive obedience nearly snapped. He wanted to flip her onto her back and fuck her. He could do it; it would be easy to take control of this sensual situation, and he knew that Hawke would allow it if he pushed just a little bit. 

He clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe. She wanted to do this, and despite the clamouring lust that was stringing his gut tight, he wanted this too. 

He couldn’t trust himself to speak, so he simply nodded his head. Then Hawke’s breast brushed his cheek again as she lowered herself over him and kissed the inside of his elbow. 

He groaned in frustration, then inhaled deeply as her careful hands smoothed along his forearms and down to his biceps. Then the pressure on his biceps increased as she arched her spine toward him and purposely brushed her breast against his mouth. 

Her smooth flesh, her hard and pebbled nipple… It was too torturous, too unfair, and Fenris’s lips fell open with longing. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ ” he moaned. 

She released a soft little laugh. “I know,” she purred. Her nipple traced along his cheek, followed by the soft curve of her flesh against his lips, and then she sat back on her heels.

Fenris opened his eyes and stared at her longingly. Her gaze was on his chest, her own lips parted in anticipation as she traced her fingers along his collarbones and down the line of his sternum, then across his pecs. 

She brushed her thumbs across his nipples, and he hissed in a breath through his teeth. “Mm,” he grunted.

Her eyes darted up to his face. “Do you like that?”

He scrambled for breath before replying. Hawke was the only one who’d ever paid much attention to his nipples, and her stroking of his chest was usually more lustful than lingering.

“I… think so,” he panted. “Go again.”

A slow smile lit her face, and she ran the tip of her finger around the periphery of his nipple. “Tell me what you like,” she said.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he sank into the sensation of it. Her slowly circling fingertip was light and delicate, and just torturous enough to make him know that he wanted more. 

He pressed his head back into the pillow and lifted his chest, wanting her to touch him more firmly, but his contrary lover moved her hand away. 

Fenris grunted in frustration, then drew a harsh breath as she began to circle his other nipple with the same careful and compelling touch. “Hawke,” he begged. 

“You want more?” she asked. Her tone was sultry and obliging, a complete contrast with the taunting touch of her finger. 

“Yes,” he gritted. “Let me feel you.”

She released a breathy little laugh. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” she said, and she bent over him and ran her tongue across his nipple. 

He gasped sharply and jerked his hips toward her. The tip of his cock grazed her belly, and her lips were pulling at his nipple - no, her tongue again, a hot sweep of the tongue across the infinitely sensitive little peak, and he moaned his bliss toward the canopy of her bed.

Hawke’s lips on his chest, her tongue tracing the edge of his nipple, her hands stroking his ribs and smoothing over his belly: he felt everything so clearly, every tender stroke and every careful touch. It was as though her hands were gathering his focus, collecting his pleasure and infusing it into his skin as she ran her palms across his body. Hawke was making him feel, making him so very _aware,_ aware of every change in pressure on his flesh and every transition of her touch from tender to torrid. 

She shifted lower between his legs and trailed a column of kisses from his ribs down to the angle of his hip. Her palms were on his thighs again, and his breathing kicked into a rapid gasp for air as she brushed her cheek and her lips against his balls, and then a stroke of her fingers, and then-

A sudden ripple of pleasure spanned from his groin up toward his chest. Fenris slammed his head back in the pillows and let out a strangled groan.

She lifted her face. “Is that all right?” she asked.

It was better than all right. “Yes,” he gasped. “ _Venhedis,_ Rynne, don’t stop…” 

She was pressing her fingers on the narrow channel of skin just below his balls, massaging that space with a firm pressure, and he’d never felt this before - she’d never done this before - but the sensation in his entire body felt like it was concentrated in this one area, and if she only kept on touching him like this… 

She bent low and ran her cheek along the length of his shaft, one palm braced on his belly as the knuckles of her other hand caressed the tender area beneath his balls, and Fenris arched into her hands. His body was hers, an instrument of flesh and blood and pure pulsing pleasure that Hawke was playing so masterfully, and when her lips joined her hands, sliding over the head of his cock and down along the length of his shaft, he fisted his hands in the pillows and moaned her name. 

The heat, the slick pressure of her throat and the hard pressure of her knuckles between his legs, her firm fingertips digging into his lower ribs: Hawke gave all of this to him, grounding him and holding him here in the bed they shared. Fenris was caught, helplessly and blissfully captured in this cage of his own pleasure. He _was_ his body, living in it and relishing it and all the things that it could feel. 

Pleasure and sensation, heat and tightness and the pounding of his own pulse, and even the things that had nothing to do with Hawke at all - the smooth flannel of the sheets under his sweat-dampened back and the tension in his fists as he twisted them into the pillows: all of it, every part of it was his body, and he was thankful for it, thankful for the pulsing waves of pleasure that were beating through his thighs and calves and even up into his throat. Fenris couldn’t think, couldn’t think a damned thing except that he loved Hawke, and he loved _this_ , and he loved his own tense and pleasured body as she brought him to his peak -

And that peak, _fasta vass,_ the fucking peak… 

It surged through him like an overwhelming wave of force, washing through his straining limbs with all the sparking heat of Hawke’s lightning storms. He cried out his rapture and his praise and lifted his hips toward her mouth, and even through his mindless bliss, he could hear that his voice was rough and ragged with the strain of his own ecstasy. 

He shuddered and fell back onto the mattress, and Hawke lifted her lips from his cock and gently caressed his thighs. With a huge effort of will, Fenris lifted his heavy eyelids. 

She was smiling at him with the usual mischievous curl to her lips, but her eyes were soft and warm. “Was that good?” she asked. 

He stared at her with total unguarded adoration before replying. “I do not have the words to describe how good that was,” he finally said. 

She grinned at him, a grin of pure and wild joy, and Fenris reached down and took her hand. “Lie with me,” he said.

She obliged him, crawling swiftly up the bed to snuggle against his side. “Does this mean you’ll sleep naked now?” she asked brightly. 

He chuckled at her single-minded nature, then slipped his hand between her legs. 

Her breath caught on a little gasp, and Fenris nuzzled her cheek. “There will be no sleeping anytime soon,” he murmured, and he dipped his fingers into the precious heat between her legs.

She gasped in ecstasy, and Fenris happily kissed her parted lips. It would take time before he would ever love his body as much as Hawke loved her own, or as much as she loved his. But in the pleasure of her patient hands, he could feel the possibility. 

In the care of Hawke’s warm and loving hands, Fenris could feel everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realized recently that I don't often focus on my male protags getting their rocks off in my smut scenes, so I challenged myself to do a little male-focused smut. Lucky Fenris. XD how did you guys like this? (Tbh, I hate using the word "balls" in smut even though it's sometimes necessary, but like. What other word is there that's less awful? HA.)
> 
> The cursed scrolls mentioned in the first paragraph are [the Awiergan Scrolls.](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/The_Awiergan_Scrolls:_First_Aspect) Such a weird little set of quests. Also I feel like I need to sit down and think about those more deeply at some point.
> 
> [Join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy! xoxo


	23. Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I invented a bunch of nobles for this chapter. They're not important. XD
> 
> @rhythm-diary on Tumblr showed me [this video of unused Fenris dialogue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXKcBAwSpzo), and this chapter features one particular panty-melting line. So this chapter is thus dedicated to her. xoxo
> 
> NSFW smut.

Fenris wandered into Hawke’s bedroom and stopped short in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “What, um…” 

Hawke was standing in front of the mirror, her eyes narrowed critically as she inspected her reflection, and Fenris trailed off foolishly at the rare sight of his dark-haired lover in a dress. She usually wore a short silky skirt at home, and she invariably wore trousers or leggings when they were travelling. He’d never seen her in a floor-length gown before. 

But it wasn’t the length of the gown that rendered him speechless. It was the provocative cut of the garment. For the most part, the scarlet dress was quite demure; it had cap sleeves and a high collar that framed her slender neck. But her elaborately tattooed back was almost entirely exposed by a large cutout that ended at the small of her back. 

Fenris stared at her dumbly until she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Is it too much?” she asked. 

He shifted his weight awkwardly, slightly alarmed at how quickly his own body had risen to attention at the mere sight of her. “I don’t think it will serve you well during our daily travels,” he said. 

She smirked at him, then turned back to the mirror. “Very helpful, Fenris. Thank you.”

He stepped into the room, his eyes still glued to the delicate hollow of her spine as it disappeared into the low-cut back. “What is the occasion?”

She sighed. “Some dinner thing at Lord Brookbank’s estate tomorrow. They want to thank me for helping the Templars.” 

Fenris dragged his eyes away from her naked back to focus on her face. “What?” he said flatly. 

She laughed. “My reaction exactly. They heard about how we helped Meredith to track down those runaways.” She shrugged and pulled a little face. “I guess that’s how nobles like to react to these things. ‘Oh, a little blood magic and a little massacre? Fabulous! Let’s throw a dinner party!’” 

Fenris hummed a quiet acknowledgment, and Hawke turned away from the mirror to face him. “Are you still angry that I let Emile go?” she asked softly. 

Fenris shrugged and trailed his fingers along her bare back. He certainly hadn’t been pleased about her decision, but the de Launcet boy had been so inept and foolish that Fenris wouldn’t be surprised if he was dead within the month. “It is done,” he said. “The choice wasn’t mine to make. That is your curse, unfortunately.” He pushed up her short sleeve and nipped her shoulder with his teeth. 

She chuckled. “Ooh, someone is snarky tonight. I hope you’ll bring that sharp tongue with you to this dinner tomorrow. It’ll make things much more entertaining.” 

He lifted his lips from her shoulder. “What do you mean?” 

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re coming with me,” she said, as though it was obvious. “You think I’m going to this thing alone? Piss on that. I need you to keep me sane. Political chat is so tiresome.”

Fenris frowned, distracted from her tempting skin by this invitation. He’d never attended a formal dinner with Hawke before. Granted, she usually dodged these types of events, but on the rare occasion that she grudgingly accepted the invites, she usually went with Aveline or Varric. 

“Why me?” he asked. “Would you not prefer to go with Varric or Aveline as you usually do?”

“No,” Hawke said. She was eyeing him carefully now, as though he was being obtuse. “Besides, Aveline and Donnic will already be there. She’s the one who begged me to come. She said I should use it as an opportunity to help her keep the peace.” She snickered. “More like she doesn’t want to deal with the complaints that’ll trickle down to her if I _don’t_ go.” 

Fenris idly ran his thumb against the exposed small of her back. “What about Varric, then?” 

She tilted her head curiously. “Fenris, what’s wrong? Don’t you want to be my date?” She batted her eyelashes at him. 

“It is not that,” he said. “It’s just…” He scowled down at his feet for a moment, then admitted the truth. “They mistake me for your manservant most of the time. I hate that.” There was a particular brand of absent disregard in almost every human’s face as their gazes slid past him, like a universal sign of dismissal. The dismissive look was familiar, a reality that he and every other elf walked with for their entire lives, but that didn’t mean it was easy to bear.

Her smile faded at his words, and her eyebrows creased in sympathy. “I know,” she said softly. “They make the same mistake with Varric sometimes, too.”

Fenris pursed his lips and took a step away from her. “Perhaps he is better versed in dealing with human stupidity. You should take him instead.”

Hawke swiftly took his hand. “I don’t want to bring Varric,” she said. “And no one will ever make that mistake again.”

Her voice was suddenly hard. Fenris gazed into her steady copper eyes. “You can’t promise that,” he said. “You can’t control how people look at me.” 

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “I can control how they look at _us,_ ” she said firmly. 

His heart sped up at the determination in her face, and he watched silently as her expression softened. “I didn’t drag you to these stupid dinners before because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said. “But… Fenris, I always wanted to go to things like this with you. Now that we’re, you know…” 

She dropped her eyes and shrugged, and Fenris smiled fondly at her awkwardness. “Now that we’re what?” he teased.

Hawke grinned and bumped him playfully with her hip, then shrugged. “We’re together,” she said simply. “I just want to go to things together with you.”

He gazed into her earnest face. Such a simple request: a request to be together. In the end, that was all Fenris really wanted, as well.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “All right,” he said. “I will escort you to this dinner.” 

She beamed at him and slid her arms around his neck. “Fantastic. I was counting on you. I have this elaborate prank lined up involving a soup tureen, and I’ll need you and Donnic to-” 

“No,” Fenris said firmly. 

Hawke laughed heartily and kissed him on the lips, then released him and began to step away. “So I’m wearing this ridiculous dress to the thing. You’ll need-”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close again, and her eyes widened as he cupped her cheek. “Hawke,” he said softly. “Thank you.” 

It wasn’t the dinner invitation he was thanking her for. But Hawke smiled cheekily at him all the same. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I haven’t told you the worst part.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Which is?”

She grinned slowly at him, then tilted her chin up and whispered in his ear. “You’ll need to wear a suit.” 

***********************

Fenris tugged restlessly at his cuffs for the umpteenth time. 

Hawke chuckled, and he frowned at her. “What?”

She smiled and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow as they approached the Brookbanks’ estate. “I always heard suits are uncomfortable, but I’d have thought they were a step up from that heavy armour of yours, at least.” 

Fenris scowled. “Armour is useful. Formal clothing serves no function.” 

She scoffed. “You want to talk about lack of function? At least you’re not wearing heels.” She wistfully eyed his bare feet.

“You can take yours off if you like,” he suggested. “No one is stopping you.”

Hawke gave a short bark of laughter. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she thought I was attending a dinner party with no shoes. I’ll consider it in future, though.”

They stepped into the foyer of the Brookbanks’ mansion, and a manservant immediately hurried over and graced Hawke with a deep bow. “Messere Hawke! Lord and Lady Brookbanks have been awaiting your arrival - please, if I may…” 

He ushered them inside with a polite hand gesture, but before they’d taken more than a few steps into the receiving room, Hawke rested a hand on the servant’s shoulder and gave him a charming smile. “Would you be so kind as to tell us where the refreshments are being served?” she asked. “We’re parched from the walk, you understand.” 

_Priorities,_ Fenris thought with a hint of amusement. Of course Hawke wasn’t going to suffer this kind of event entirely sober. He watched as the indecision flickered across the manservant’s face. “We’ll have a glass brought for you, messere, but Lord Brookbanks -” 

“Two glasses,” Hawke said firmly, then nodded her head in Fenris’s direction. “One for him and one for me.” She blinked sweetly at Fenris. “Or should we make it three glasses? I can double-fist.” 

For the first time since they’d stepped in the door, the manservant looked Fenris in the eye. “Of - of course,” he stammered, his eyes flicking swiftly from Hawke to Fenris and back. The servant held up two surreptitious fingers to a nearby elven serving girl, then gently ushered them further into the house. “Refreshments will arrive as soon as possible, messere. In the meantime, the Lord and Lady have been so looking forward to speaking with you.” 

Hawke sighed quietly. “Yes, all right. Lead on.” She looked at Fenris again as the manservant led them through the throng of well-dressed gossiping nobles. “Can you wave enthusiastically at Aveline if you see her?” she murmured. “Let her know we’re here. Token appearance and all that.”

“I will be sure to get her attention,” Fenris said. 

“No, you have to _wave enthusiastically,_ ” Hawke insisted. “That’s how nobles greet each other at these things. Sometimes they do a fancy two-step. Or crow like roosters.” She smiled cheekily at him. 

He raised one eyebrow at her. Her ridiculous comments were running rampant tonight, and that only meant one thing. 

“Nervous, are you?” he said. Truth be told, he was feeling a bit hunted himself. The last time he’d been in an environment like this was in the Imperium, and he’d certainly not been a respected guest - or the date of one - at that time. He was also fairly certain he was the only elf in this blasted house who wasn’t carrying a tray.

Hawke laughed lightly. “Nervous? Why would I be nervous? One of Kirkwall’s only openly declared apostates going for dinner in the home of some poncy pro-Templar noble? It’s great! It has all the makings of a fantastic farce.” She snapped her fingers ruefully. “Should have brought you _and_ Varric as my dates. Kirkwall’s two smartest men! You could have navigated this whole thing while I got utterly shit-faced. Ah, we’ll have to keep it in mind for next time.” 

Her fingers were clenched tightly against the inside of his elbow. Fenris leaned his head toward her. “Be easy, Hawke,” he murmured. “We’ll be all right.” 

“Of course we will,” she said. “It’ll be fun.” 

Fenris shrewdly studied her brittle smile. A moment later, they found themselves in front of an older and opulently-dressed couple. The manservant cleared his throat, then announced, “Lord and Lady Brookbanks, may I present the Champion of Kirkwall: Messere Rynne Hawke, and…” He trailed off uncertainly as his eyes fell on Fenris. 

Hawke lightly rested her other hand on his forearm. “My partner, Fenris,” she said. 

_Partner._ He felt a little swoop of excitement in his belly at the word. Hawke had never called him her partner before. But he supposed this was the first time she was formally introducing him to anyone who didn’t already know them both. 

His ears felt pleasantly warm. He tuned back into the conversation as the lady of the house extended her hand to Hawke, ignoring Fenris entirely. “It is so lovely to meet you in person, my dear,” she purred. “We know of your many deeds, of course. It is wonderful to see that you’ve finally decided to help our esteemed Templars in these troubling times.” 

Hawke smiled sweetly at the lord and lady. “Always a pleasure to take down murderers, whether they’re mages or not,” she replied. “I’m glad that Guard Captain Aveline was able to help. It’s a shame the Templars couldn’t spare the time to track their own escapees.” She sighed musically. “Ah well. I suppose there are other things they’re doing with their time. Making the more obedient mages miserable, for example.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes, but didn’t speak; this was an argument he and Hawke had had before, and they each knew where the other stood. Lord Brookbanks, on the other hand, cleared his throat gruffly. “The Templars are indeed overwrought with the upsurge in blood magic incidents, serah,” he said. “We are fortunate that our Champion has her priorities straight about the protection of this city.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Hawke chirped. “All of Kirkwall’s people need protecting, including the mages. I suppose that’s why those Templars broke the phylacteries in the first place.”

Fenris grunted. “And what a boon that was,” he retorted sarcastically. “Those maleficar turned on us the moment we cornered them. Setting them free was a mistake.” 

Lord and Lady Brookbanks stared at him as though he was a talking mabari, and he frowned at them in annoyance. _Probably never heard an elf express an opinion before,_ he thought. 

Hawke was frowning at him as well, and he knew why; she wanted to defend Emile de Launcet, but she couldn’t argue the point without revealing that she’d let him escape.

A stranger’s voice broke in before anyone could respond. “What was that I heard? The Templars were accomplices in that whole escapade?”

Fenris stepped closer to Hawke as another couple joined them. The manservant, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable, introduced them. “Er, may I present Messeres Geralt Brice and Henryk Westhall of-” 

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Geralt said impatiently. He turned to Hawke with a smile. “We didn’t hear that part of the tale. Messere Hawke, it is strange but good to see you here.”

_Mage sympathizers,_ Fenris thought sourly as Geralt and Henryk gallantly kissed Hawke’s hand. Then Henryk turned to the Brookbanks. “Were you aware of the Templars’ involvement in those blood mages’ release?” he asked.

“Of course,” Lady Brookbanks said stiffly. “A small handful of renegades who shirked their duty to this city and its people.” 

Hawke saucily shifted her weight to one hip. “Renegades are rather like cockroaches, aren’t they?” she mused. “Where you have one or two, there are certainly more. I doubt they were acting alone. A conspiracy of justice, perhaps?” She winked slyly at Geralt and Henryk, who smiled at her in turn. 

Another new voice joined in, this one female and snide in tone. “You’re quite right, Rynne. The Templars should turn their attentions to weeding out the disloyal members of their ranks.” 

Hawke sighed very quietly, then offered a tight smile to yet another newcomer to their group. “Hello, Alyss.” 

The new woman, Alyss, gave Hawke a poisonous little smile. “Carver is a Templar, isn’t he? How has he been?” she simpered.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the thinly-veiled threat. It seemed that Hawke was of the same mind; her fingers bit into Fenris’s arm sharply for a moment before she spoke in a sweet and measured voice. “As annoying as ever, but very well, thank you for asking.”

Then Lord Brookbanks interrupted. “I believe the problem would be solved if we simply elected the Knight-Commander as Viscount. I’m certain she would straighten this city out in no time.”

Hawke gave a little laugh, but Fenris could clearly detect the snarl in her tone. “Oh yes. If Meredith was Viscount, I’m sure Kirkwall would be a lot more tranquil.” 

There was a brief and awkward silence at Hawke’s blunt statement. Then Alyss tittered. “Oh Rynne, let’s not pretend it wouldn’t be a case of the punishment fitting the crime!”

Hawke gave her a very sharp smile. “And sometimes the punishment fits the crime about as well as a thong would fit my Uncle Gamlen’s ass,” she said in a sugary voice. 

Geralt and Henryk guffawed appreciatively, and Alyss stared at Hawke in shock as Lady Brookbanks fanned herself. Fenris leaned in close to her ear. “I don’t know if this is what Aveline had in mind when she asked you to help keep the peace,” he murmured. 

He was trying to lighten her mood, but unfortunately, his attempt at levity backfired; Hawke leaned away and scowled at him. “Come on, Fenris, even _you_ don’t think all mages should be made Tranquil.”

He leaned away in resignation. “Perhaps not,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I think mages should be free to run around Kirkwall without regulation. There are worse things than having a Templar in a position of authority in this place.”

Hawke wilted in exasperation, just as he’d known she would, but before she could reply, Henryk interrupted. “Messere Hawke, who is this elf to challenge you in this impertinent way?” He cut Fenris a scathing glance. “The Champion’s hand is empty. Perhaps you should be fetching her a drink instead of mouthing off.”

Fenris’s shoulders instantly tensed. He could feel his lip curling in a snarl as he glared at Henryk’s supercilious face. _These fucking humans,_ he thought angrily. They were always so smug and superior, as though Fenris’s race alone was enough to judge his worth. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, the old familiar rage coming to a boil in his chest, and-

“You’re bloody joking, right?” Hawke said. 

Fenris looked at her. Her eyes were locked on Henryk’s face, and as Fenris watched, the noble’s proud posture seemed to wilt from the intensity of her gaze. 

She rested a hand on Fenris’s chest. “This _elf_ is Fenris, by the way, since you didn’t bother to ask his name. He’s my partner, not my manservant,” she said. Her tone was light and conversational and _very_ dangerous. “Even if he was a manservant, who are _you_ to speak to him like that?”

With Hawke’s every word, Henryk’s face was steadily turning redder. By the time his cheeks were the colour of a tomato, Fenris’s anger had transformed almost entirely into vindictive satisfaction. 

“He - Messere Hawke, he is - such disrespect!” Henryk sputtered. 

Hawke looked up at Fenris. “What disrespect?” she asked. “I didn’t hear any disrespect.” 

Fenris shrugged. “I certainly did not intend any.” 

She nodded pertly, then looked at Henryk again. “He’s free to form his own opinions, even if they’re annoyingly pro-Templar.” She tilted her head. “Or do you disagree?” 

The others in their little circle were dead silent. Henryk glared at Hawke for a moment, then dropped his eyes to his feet. 

“That’s what I thought,” Hawke said pleasantly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe we’ve earned a drink.” She nodded graciously to their host and hostess. “My lord, my lady. Lovely party. Fenris, shall we?”

She tugged his arm gently, and together they weaved their way through the crowd. Fenris placed his palm firmly on the small of her back as they slipped around the chattering nobles, partly so as not to lose her, but also partly because he wanted nothing more in this moment than to have his hands on every part of her body.

She was moving smoothly through the crowd, and Fenris was sure the average person would think nothing was wrong, but he could practically feel the irritation sparking from her golden skin. _Venhedis,_ he wanted to lick her skin. He wanted her tongue in his mouth. For years he’d watched her using that clever tongue of hers to charm and to cut, but never at a formal event like this. 

Fenris didn’t need anyone to defend him; he had a voice of his own, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. But… _kaffas_ , that belligerent tilt of Hawke’s chin, and hearing her calling him her partner in front of all these damned nobles, calling him her partner for everyone to hear - 

“Hawke! I’m glad to see you.” Fenris snapped out of his amorous thoughts at the sound of Aveline’s harried voice. He nodded a friendly greeting to Aveline and Donnic, but to his surprise, Hawke didn’t slow down. 

“Av, Donnic, good to see you, can’t stop now, urgent business,” she said, and she continued to lead him through the party.

His belly hopped with excitement, and he trailed his fingers along the length of her bare spine with growing eagerness. He’d thought she was bringing him to the bar, but as they slipped through the mansion’s many rooms and the number of guests thinned out, Fenris began to hope. When she pulled him into an empty corridor and began trying the doorknobs of every door, his suspicions - and his anticipation - ripened even further.

He followed her silently until one of the knobs finally gave way. As soon as the door opened, he pushed her inside with one hand on her hip. 

“Hey,” she protested. “No need to be pushy.”

Fenris didn’t respond. He followed her into the room - an empty office, from a quick cursory glance - then shut the door and crowded Hawke back against it. 

“Good,” he growled. “Privacy at last.” With no further preamble, he lowered his head and took her lips in an enthusiastic kiss. 

She slid her hands inside of his coat, and Fenris swallowed her moan as he pressed his knee against the juncture of her thighs. He stroked her tongue with his own, then slid his hand over her the naked small of her back and lower, cupping her ass as he growled into her mouth.

She broke away from his lips with a gasp. “Excuse me, serah,” she panted. She pushed at his abdomen. “Maybe I brought you here to argue with you.” 

He buried his face against the side of her neck and nipped her skin. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked huskily. He began gathering the smooth fabric of her dress in one hand, his frustration growing as he failed to find her bare leg. Why did this damned skirt have to be so long?

He nipped her neck a little harder in his eagerness, and she released a little moan before smacking him lightly in the abdomen. “Maybe I’m mad at you,” she said breathlessly. 

He went still, then leaned away from her in surprise. “Are you?”

“Yes,” she said, and Fenris raised his eyebrows. Then Hawke shook her head. “No. I don’t know,” she said impatiently. “I’m mad at someone. I think.” 

He studied her carefully. Despite her frown, her back was arched, and her hips were moving in a subtle grind against his thigh, and he wasn’t quite able to mute the lust that was thrumming through his belly. He slowly resumed the gathering of her skirt. “Are you angry about the Templars?” he asked.

“Yes,” she snapped. She was glaring at him now. “I don’t like Meredith. She’s too damned strict. She shouldn’t be in charge of a melting ice cream cone, let alone the fate of every mage in the Circle.” 

Fenris frowned at her. She was a picture of contradiction, amber eyes narrowed with anger but her fingers toying with buttons of his vest. Fenris watched with a confusing mix of irritation and lust as she slid her hands to his hips and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his trousers.

His gaze darted from her fingers back up to her face, and she lifted her chin in challenge. “Well?” she breathed. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Fenris responded by gently taking hold of her jaw. He turned her head to the side and licked her neck, and she gasped as he traced his tongue along the edge of her ear. “I don’t like Orsino,” he whispered. “He’s far too lenient with his charges. There could be an orgy of blood magic happening in the Circle, and he would bleat and moan that they’re misunderstood.”

Hawke was panting in his ear, and Fenris was abruptly distracted from his own words as his busy fingers finally found the bare skin of her leg. Relieved and riled by the discovery, he curled his fingers around her thigh and lightly brushed the velvety skin of her inner thigh with his thumb. 

Hawke whimpered as his fingers inched higher toward the apex of her thighs, and the needy little sound vibrated through his hand that was still clasping her jaw. He gently turned her chin back to face him and leaned close to kiss her.

She spoke before he could touch his lips to hers. “You’re so damned stubborn,” she breathed. 

He pulled back slightly and admired the defiance and the sparkle in her eyes for a moment, then ruthlessly burrowed his hand into her smallclothes. 

She gasped and grabbed his vest, her face twisting with excitement as his fingers slid through her curls to find the slickness between her legs, and Fenris released a rueful breath. She was so fucking wet, so utterly ready, and he didn’t really understand why: they were arguing, she was angry and he was irritated, but his cock was pounding for her and she was obviously just as desperate as he felt, and how had this odd ambience of raging lust and lustful rage even come to pass? 

He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Fenris tilted her chin back once more. “ _You_ are infuriating,” he told her, then he plunged one finger inside of her.

She cried out sharply, and Fenris stole the sound of her pleasure with his tongue in her mouth. Hawke thrust her hips toward his hand, her fingers pulling desperately in his vest, and he broke their kiss with a gasp when her hand slid down to pet his bulging crotch. 

Stunned by her sudden touch, he released her chin, and she twisted her free hand in his collar. “ _You_ never stop arguing with me,” she panted. Her other hand was stroking his cock through his trousers, and Fenris dropped his head against her collarbone and groaned at her firm touch. 

Her fingers slid away and dipped into his waistband, but Fenris grabbed her wrist and pinned it against the door. Hawke gasped again, a feverish high-pitched sound, and Fenris curled his finger inside of her to stroke that sensitive little spot just inside her inner walls. 

She cried out again, and Fenris luxuriated in her heat and her tightness for a moment before pulling his finger free to caress her clit instead. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

She opened her eyes, her breathing harsh and strained as she met his gaze. Then she clasped his neck in her free hand. “Never,” she breathed. 

An impish smile lit her flushed face, and Fenris grinned back at her before kissing her hard. His grip on her wrist was firm, but his fingers were soft and sweet between her legs, teasing the swollen bud of her pleasure in a delicate little dance. 

Hawke tilted her hips toward his hand in a physical plea for more, but when Fenris refused to give it, she broke away from his kiss. “Fenris,” she gasped. “Please-”

“Don’t beg,” he interrupted. 

She looked at him in surprise. He stroked her clit until she was writhing again, then pressed his mouth to her ear. “Don’t beg,” he said again. “Tell me what you want. That combative attitude of yours is… quite seductive.”

She shot him a heated little glance. “Is it, now? You don’t find it maddening?” She broke off with a moan and thrust her hips insistently toward his teasing touch. “Fuck’s sake, Fenris…” 

He continued to stroke her gently. “You _are_ maddening, Hawke. You drive me mad every day. I welcome it.” He leaned close and trailed his lips along her cheekbone. “But seeing you cutting down those smug humans…” He shook his head in wonder, then slid his two slick fingers inside of her.

She mewled in ecstasy, and Fenris kissed her exposed throat. “It was beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “ _You_ are beautiful. Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”

“You didn’t, in fact,” she panted. “I was starting to think you didn’t like my dress - oh fuck!”

She shoved her fist against her mouth to muffle herself as he ran the tips of his fingers over her swollen bud once more. He released her captive wrist, then cupped her cheek in his hand. “ _You_ are exquisite,” he said. “The dress is simply a frame for what was already there.”

She gasped into the back of her hand as he stroked her, then lifted her lips from her fist. “So you _don’t_ like my dress, then? That’s rude,” she whimpered.

Fenris smirked. “Shut up, Hawke,” he whispered, then pressed his fingers carefully against her clit until she keened with want. 

He teased the sensitive little spot until she sobbed with frustration, then brushed his lips over her ear once more. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he commanded. 

Hawke shoved him back suddenly, then strode over to the large ornate desk that stood in the centre of the room. “I want you to put that rude tongue of yours to better use,” she said, and she sat on the desk.

Before she could even fully settle herself, Fenris was seated in one of the chairs facing the desk and sliding his hands up her thighs to push her long blasted skirt up. He dragged her smallclothes off and shoved them carelessly in his pocket, then he was pushing her thighs apart, and Hawke’s excited gasps bled into his ears as he lowered his mouth between her legs. 

He hungrily lapped up the moisture that coated her folds, and she sank her fingers into his hair as he feasted on her slick and fragrant flesh. She leaned her weight back on her free hand and spread her legs even further, and Fenris growled his approval into her pussy. Seeing her spread open like this, legs wide and welcoming and her fingers stroking his hair to spur him forth: it never failed to bring the blood rushing to his eager cock. 

He clasped her thighs roughly and kissed her warm wetness, his lips and tongue taking their turns to lavish her budded clit. She arched her back and undulated her hips toward his tongue, and Fenris devoured her with utter devotion, uncaring that her moisture was coating his chin: it was good and it was _right_ , this proof of the pleasure he was bestowing upon her, of the pleasure she was bringing him by virtue of her whimpering breaths and her eager fingers tightening at the back of his neck.

Hawke suddenly gasped and released his hair to jam her fist against her mouth, and Fenris smiled with satisfaction as she shuddered and came apart. He dipped his tongue inside of her, making her gasp and jolt in rapture, and then he resumed his light and gentle lapping of her clit until she settled back down on the desk. 

She tugged his hair gently. “Fenris, fuck me now,” she gasped. “Right now.” 

He stood from the chair and fumbled at the buttons on his trousers. Then Hawke reached out and roughly wiped his mouth and chin with her thumb. “Kiss me,” she panted. 

He looked up at her with a combination of exasperation and fondness. “Which is it, Hawke? Do you wish me to fuck you or kiss you?”

She tutted in annoyance. “Can’t you do both?” she snapped. She hooked her fingers into his waistband and dragged him close, then kissed him firmly while unbuttoning his trousers. She pulled his manhood from his pants, and Fenris groaned into her mouth, splaying one palm on the desk and the other at the small of her back as she grasped his shaft and stroked him swiftly.

She shifted closer to the edge of the desk and spread her knees, and Fenris broke away from her lips and clasped the back of her neck. “You are very impatient,” he rasped.

“Yes,” she agreed, and she grabbed his ass and pulled him close. “What else?”

The tip of his cock slid unerringly into her entrance, and Fenris gasped in bliss as he began to sink into her. “You… you are impulsive and foul-mouthed and… _venhedis_ …” He moaned as his hips drew flush to hers. She was so gloriously warm, and Fenris savoured this hot and honeyed centre of her that only he had the privilege of enjoying now, for she was his and he was hers, and nothing in this world or the blasted Fade would ever change that.

“Yes,” she mewled, and she gripped his ass more insistently. “What else?”

He withdrew from her, then twined his fingers in her short dark hair and pressed his forehead to hers. “The light of your smile shines into every blasted corner of my soul, that’s what,” he breathed. 

A slow and breathtaking grin lit her face. “Maker’s balls, I love you,” she said. 

He smiled back at her, then slammed his cock into her depths once more.

Hawke cried out in ecstasy, and Fenris smothered her lips with a kiss, and within seconds they were fucking so zealously that the desk was shaking with their frenzied efforts.

Hawke broke away from his lips, then leaned back on her elbows on the desk and propped one heeled foot on the edge of the desk for leverage, and Fenris eagerly grasped her hips and fucked her even harder. She tilted her head back in rapture, and he was visited by a sudden desperate longing to see her skin. 

“I want you naked,” he gasped. 

She lifted her head and flashed him a smile. “Later,” she panted. “Now stop talking and just-” 

She released a little gasp of surprise as he abruptly leaned over her, penning her in on one side with his palm on the table as he lifted her leg over his hip. “You don’t really want me to stop talking,” he growled. “I know you like it when I chastise and charm you in the same breath.”

She burst out a little laugh. “You know me so well - _ah!_ ” She cried out as he pumped himself into her again. 

He continued to fuck her, and without breaking his pace, he pressed his mouth to her ear again. “The one who needs to be quiet is you,” he whispered. “You are far too loud.”

“If you want me to be quiet, you should stop fucking me so well,” she retorted.

Fenris shot her a roguish grin, and they both released a breathless little laugh. Then Hakwe obediently pressed her knuckles to her mouth as Fenris continued to ride her in a fast and steady rhythm. 

Rhythm, yes, that’s what this was - this smooth and slick slide of his steely length into her warm and willing depths: it was nearly hypnotic, an inescapable draw that he couldn’t resist, and he continued to pound into her until she screamed her pleasure into the back of her hand.

He gritted his teeth and gasped as her contracting body pulled his climax even closer, and then he was shuddering too, helpless and mindless as the pleasure smashed over him with all the scintillating shock of a shattering window. He dropped his head against Hawke’s chest, vaguely aware of her fingers cradling the back of his neck as he came down from his peak. 

They breathed together for a long luxurious minute, and Fenris enjoyed the soothing stroke of Hawke’s fingers in his hair. Then she slid her leg from around his waist and gently pushed his shoulder. “Come on,” she whispered. “Everyone will probably know what we’ve been doing, so we might as well own it.”

He grumbled petulantly against her chest, and Hawke chuckled. “Or we could just sneak out and go home,” she whispered. 

He finally lifted his face and sighed. “No,” he said. “We can stay if you wish.” With Hawke standing proudly by his side, he could tolerate any number of idiotic humans.

She smiled and kissed him gently, then they slowly disentangled themselves. With a mocking little bow, Fenris handed her the pocket-square from his suit so she could mop herself up. 

She smirked at him as she grabbed the fabric from his hand. “Such a gallant lover you are,” she teased. 

He smirked and readjusted his clothes as Hawke cleaned up, then they sauntered toward the door together. Hawke opened the door cautiously and peered out into the corridor, then recoiled in surprise before throwing the door wide open. 

“Donnic?” she exclaimed. 

Fenris’s eyebrows leapt high on his forehead. Sure enough, Aveline’s husband was standing just outside the door, and Fenris took in his friend’s embarrassed expression with slowly growing disbelief. 

Hawke gaped at the guardsman with equal surprise. “What are you doing here?” she asked. 

Donnic scratched the back of his head, looking extremely discomfited. “Aveline sent me to keep an eye on you. She thought you looked angry, Hawke, and she wanted to make sure nobody bothered you, or-” 

“Or that I wouldn’t rough someone up, right?” Hawke drawled.

Donnic shrugged and grimaced apologetically. “When I saw you both coming in here, I thought it best if you weren’t, er, disturbed.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, then gave them both a pleading glance. “Please don’t tell Aveline that I, um, permitted this. It… er… it may be best for us all if she didn’t know.” His neck and ears were steadily growing red, and Fenris couldn’t decide whether to be amused or mortified.

It was quite clear how Hawke felt, however: she promptly burst into laughter. “Oh Donnic.” She sighed happily. “I always pegged you for a pervert. I’m so pleased to see I was right.”

“I wasn’t listening. I didn't hear anything,” the guard blustered. “Well, hardly anything. These doors are quite thick, you know.”

_Mortified it is,_ Fenris decided as he rubbed his forehead. His cheeks felt like they were burning as much as Donnic’s neck seemed to be. Hawke, on the other hand, was laughing like a loon, so Fenris decided to take it on himself to ease the situation.

“Thank you, Donnic,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “And we apologize for the… er, that is… we apologize.” He extended his hand to Donnic in thanks.

Donnic raised his eyebrows in surprise and reached out to clasp Fenris’s outstretched hand, but Hawke grabbed Fenris’s wrist before the guardsman could touch him. “Not that hand,” she blurted, and she shot him a meaningful look.

Fenris flushed even more hotly as he remembered where his fingers had just been. He jerked his hand behind his back. “Er,” he said stupidly.

Hawke burst into an even wilder bout of laughter, then swiftly pecked Donnic on his flaming red cheek. “Thanks, Donnic. We owe you! Let us know when we can return the favour, all right?” Without waiting for a response, she began to drag Fenris down the hall.

As soon as they were alone in yet another quiet corridor, Hawke pushed him against the wall and pressed herself against his front. “So polite, you are,” she purred, then dropped her voice to a mocking baritone. “‘I apologize that you had to witness my fantastic sexual prowess, Donnic. Perhaps the tips you picked up will make up for the awkwardness.’”

Fenris palmed her naked back and wrinkled his nose at her terrible impersonation of him. “I am under the impression he doesn’t need the tips.”

Hawke drew back and grinned at him. “ _What?_ What gossip is this? What have you heard? Aveline never tells us anything!”

“I don’t know what you mean. I don’t gossip,” Fenris said, then began playfully working on the tiny buttons that fastened the low-cut back of her dress.

Hawke giggled and slapped his hand, then slid her arms around his neck with a sly smile. “You’re fun at parties,” she said. “Such an excellent partner in crime. I’m definitely bringing you to all of these things from now on.” 

_Partner._ His heart did a little fish-leap of pleasure at the word. It sounded so easy and comfortable in her sunny voice. And how boldly she’d introduced him as such, without a care for how these arrogant nobles would judge her come tomorrow… 

He gazed into her impish amber eyes with a nearly-painful rush of love. He’d never had anyone be so proud to have him by their side as an _equal_ , not as a pet but as a person; not a slave, but a significant other. 

_I adore you,_ he thought. He wrapped his arms securely around her waist. “I suspect you won’t be invited to many more such events after this,” he said. 

Hawke brushed her nose to his. “Good,” she whispered. “More time for just the two of us.”

“Agreed,” Fenris murmured, then gently kissed her smiling scarlet lips. Whatever else came at them, whether it was politics or parties, slavers or saarebas, Templars or abominations or the sheer foolishness of friends: he and Hawke would face it side-by-side, partners in love and crime and everything in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is the inspiration](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/384565255665418122/) for Hawke's dress in this chapter, except I envision something with a looser/more flowy skirt... and an even lower-cut back ;)
> 
> This miiiight be the last chapter until the new year? I got a writing assignment for a different fandom that needs urgent attention. But never fear! These two idiots will be back in January at the latest! 
> 
> Come join me [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like!


	24. Fussing and Coddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am home sick with a cold today and naturally this means writing a piece of stupid self-insert sugar-sweet Fenhawke fluff. Sorry and I hope you enjoy!

Fenris stepped out of Hawke’s en-suite washroom and raised his eyebrows. “Why are you still in bed?” he asked.

Hawke was so thoroughly ensconced in her bedding that all Fenris could see of her was her tattooed left shoulder and a dark tuft of hair. She groaned and shifted in the blankets, then cleared her throat. “I don’t feel well,” she whimpered. 

Fenris frowned, then walked around the bed and sat beside her. He peeled the pillow away from her head and laid his knuckles across her cheek, then her forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he said. 

She squinched up her face, then pulled the pillow back over her head. “So? I still don’t feel well. It feels like there are giant spider’s webs in my throat.” She coughed.

Fenris raised one eyebrow. Her cough did sound rather chesty. And now that he thought about it, her voice was more gravelly than her usual early-morning purr. 

He shifted the pillow off of her head and stood up. “Come on, Hawke. Get up and get moving. Lying around will only make you feel worse.”

She scowled at him through her dark spiky bangs. “Who taught you bedside manner? Anders’s little friend on a bad day?” She pulled the blankets back up to cover her bare shoulder. “I’m not going out today. You’re in charge. Or Aveline. Or Varric.” She coughed, then sniffled and cleared her throat. “In fact, whoever brings me soup gets to be in charge.” 

“Nobody will bring you soup, then,” Fenris drawled. 

She wrinkled her nose, then gave him a tiny smile. “True. But that still doesn’t change my plans. It’s just me and this bed today.”

Fenris folded his arms and gave her a chiding look. “Lingering in bed when you’re ill will only make you weaker.” 

Hawke narrowed her eyes, then lifted herself onto one elbow. “Who told you that?”

He shrugged. “It is common knowledge. Illness only festers in an unmoving body.” 

Her eyes narrowed even further. “And when you’re injured in battle? What about then?” 

“Injuries are different,” Fenris said. “If you don’t fully heal from an injury, _that_ will make your body weaker. Bedrest for a cold is unacceptable. Lying in bed to heal from an injury, however, is permissible.”

Hawke’s eyebrows rose. “Permissible?” she said. 

“Yes,” Fenris said testily. He scowled at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She was peering at him carefully, almost as though she was inspecting a part of his face she’d never seen before. “Fenris, who told you that you can’t stay in bed if you’re sick?” she asked.

He frowned. “It was… healers in the Imperium,” he said slowly. “Danarius’s staff…”

Suddenly he realized what Hawke was getting at. _Of course,_ he thought with a rush of resentment. Of course Danarius’s healers would want him on his feet as soon as possible instead of taking time to recover. Now that he was thinking about it, he recalled one particularly tenacious bout of illness: a chest cold that had lingered for an entire month, complete with the feeling of cobwebs in his lungs that Hawke was now describing. Fenris recalled actually spitting phlegm in an enemy’s face at one point during a battle, figuring that he might as well use his illness as an advantage. 

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I am a fool,” he muttered. 

“No, you’re not,” Hawke said firmly. “ _They_ were assholes. You’re just…” She trailed off, then patted the bed beside her. “Come sit with me.”

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and Hawke nestled back into the blankets. “Here’s the truth. When someone is sick, they get full privileges to lie in bed and whine and moan as much as they want,” she told him. 

Fenris huffed. “And who told _you_ that?” he asked dryly.

“I told myself,” she said cheerfully. “And I’m full of great advice. Now listen carefully, because this part is important: when someone is sick, it’s their partner’s job to coddle and fuss and do nice things for them until they’re better.”

Fenris smirked. “I see. And in the current scenario…”

“... you are the lucky partner, yes,” Hawke finished. She laid her head on the pillow and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Fenris, will you rub my back? I’m ill.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “How will rubbing your back help to hasten your recovery?”

“It’s _your_ handsome hands on my body,” she replied cheekily. “That’s the best kind of medicine.” She suddenly buried her face in her pillow and coughed. 

The cough was deep and wet, and it prompted a squeeze of sympathy in Fenris’s chest. He drew the blankets back to expose her naked back, then ran his palm across her golden skin. 

She lifted her face from the pillow and took a deep breath, and Fenris carefully brushed her hair away from her face before resuming the caressing of her back. “Breathe easy, Hawke,” he said quietly. 

She took another deep breath, then smiled tiredly at him. “See? You’re a natural with the bedside manner. Next time you’re ill, I’ll return the favour.” 

He shrugged and gently massaged the back of her neck. “I may actually prefer to move around when I am ill,” he admitted. “I will feel less like an invalid that way.”

She shrugged affably. “If that’s what you want,” she said.

Fenris continued running his palm from her shoulder blade to the base of her spine. A moment later, she reached back and took his hand. 

Her expression was oddly serious as she squeezed his fingers. “You can do whatever you want, Fenris,” she said. “It’s always up to you.” 

“I know,” he said softly. He swallowed hard, then squeezed her hand in return. “Thank you, Hawke.”

She gazed at him for a moment longer, then kissed his knuckles and released his hand. “No, thank _you_ ,” she said playfully. “For this lovely backrub that you’re going to keep giving me until I fall asleep.” 

He scoffed and shook his head in amusement, then continued to carefully stroke her back. A few minutes later, Hawke’s breathing grew deep and slow as she drifted back to sleep. 

Fenris gradually stopped rubbing her back. When she didn’t wake, he carefully rose from the bed.

Very gently, he stroked Hawke’s cheekbone. “I will return soon,” he whispered. 

She murmured in her sleep and pressed her cheek more firmly into the pillow. Fenris smiled faintly, then silently left her bedroom and headed down the stairs, intent on his goal of fetching soup for her from the market. If Hawke wouldn’t be leading them into a series of mad misadventures today, Fenris supposed he could spend the day fussing and coddling and doing nice things for her instead.

That was a partner’s job, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to come and squeal about Fenris with me. xoxo


	25. Lyrium and Mushroom Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!! Have some fluff to celebrate!
> 
> This is a bit of a reflective piece: the evolution of Fenris's thoughts from Act I through III. It was inspired by those small super-dark side-caves within the main caves throughout the game, which usually contain a bit of loot and have black ceilings scattered with blue sparkly lights. I hope you know what I'm talking about, because I couldn't find a pic on ye olde Google.

**\- Act I -**

“Wow. Oi, you beautiful idiots, come and look at this!”

Fenris glanced over his shoulder as he hefted his maul from the oozing spider corpse that was leaking its fluids across the cavern floor. He couldn’t see where Hawke had gone, but her cheerful voice was emanating from a particularly dark corner of the dank and twisting cave. “What is it?” he said tersely.

“It’s sparkly,” her disembodied voice replied. “Come and look!”

Isabela perked up as she sheathed her daggers. “Ooh. Is it treasure?” She and Merrill followed the sound of Hawke’s voice up a short rickety flight of stairs and toward a narrow crevice in the cavern wall. 

Hawke’s barking laugh echoed from the crevice. “Treasure? You’re such a bloody pirate, Bels.”

“Thank you, sweet thing,” Isabela purred, and she and Merrill disappeared into the crevice with Hawke.

Fenris scowled as he wiped his weapon clean. They didn’t have time for another diversion; if they didn’t hurry, they would lose the trail of the slavers that they were chasing down. “Hawke, we should move on,” he called. 

Then Merrill gasped. “Ooh, how pretty!” she chirped. “It looks like stars are stuck right there in the ceiling.” 

Fenris frowned. _Stars in the ceiling?_ he wondered, then shook his head. It wasn’t important. “We’re going to lose those blasted slavers,” he complained.

Isabela wandered out of the crevice looking unimpressed. “We won’t,” she assured him. “Pile of brainless pricks like that? They’ll get more lost down here than we will.” She sashayed down the stairs and leaned against the craggy cavern wall.

Fenris eyed her for a moment. “So? What was it?” he asked. He jerked his chin in the direction of the crevice. 

“Not treasure, that’s for sure,” Isabela said with a yawn. 

Fenris pursed his lips, annoyed at her non-answer and more annoyed still that he cared to know. 

Then Hawke’s sunny voice called his name. “Fenris, get that fine ass in here and have a look!” 

Merrill slipped out of the crevice. “Why bother? He won’t like it,” she told Hawke. “He doesn’t like anything.” 

_Especially not smug little blood mages like you,_ he thought resentfully, but he finally gave in. Their party clearly wasn’t going to be moving on until he ceded to Hawke’s wishes. 

He made his way up the stairs and peered suspiciously into the narrow crevice. “Well?” he grunted.

“Come in here!” Hawke ordered, and Fenris grudgingly slid into the tiny dark alcove. He flicked his eyes up to the ceiling of the crevice, and instantly he understood what Merrill had meant. 

_Stars in the ceiling._ The ceiling of this particular part of the cavern was studded with brilliant blue points of light that seemed to pulse and glow in a steady rhythm… or were they actually twinkling, like stars in the night sky? 

He frowned. “What is this?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it’s deep mushroom roots.” Her chin was tilted up to admire the aquamarine lights, and without quite meaning to, Fenris found himself admiring her instead. The bluish glow was rather eerie, but it only served to lighten Hawke’s normally-warm complexion into an ethereal ivory shade. 

He forced his eyes back to the ceiling. “It looks like lyrium,” he remarked. “The shade of it…” He shot a quick distasteful look at his own partly-exposed biceps. The colour of the lights in the ceiling matched the colour of his lyrium scars when they flared to life.

“Lyrium? _Here?_ ” Hawke said incredulously. “Dwarves would be all over this place if there was lyrium here.”

He shot her a chiding look. “Dwarves haven’t mined every lyrium deposit in the world.”

“Fair enough,” she admitted. “But this doesn’t look like lyrium to me.”

“Have you seen raw lyrium before?” he drawled.

A slow, sheepish smile crept across her face. “Er, no.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow at her, then folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling again. “I believe it’s lyrium.”

Hawke folded her arms in turn. “Well, _I_ think it’s deep mushroom roots.” 

Fenris scowled at her. “Mushrooms don’t have roots.”

She stared at him like he was an idiot. “Of course they do,” she said carefully. “How else do you think they absorb water and all that?”

Fenris sighed loudly. “Hawke, you are incorrect.”

She grinned at him impishly. “Such confidence, my broody friend. Well, there’s only one way to tell for sure.” She stood on her tiptoes and reached toward the ceiling.

He grabbed her hand in a panic and pulled her arm back. “Don’t,” he snapped. What was she thinking, reaching for an unknown glowing substance on the ceiling? “Whether it’s lyrium or deep mushroom, you’ll poison yourself.”

Hawke’s mouth dropped into a comical _oh,_ and then she burst into laughter. “Maker’s balls, you’re right. I forgot,” she said, then continued to laugh.

Fenris stared at her in exasperation. She was so careless and impulsive and so damned joyful. “You’re an idiot,” he informed her haughtily.

“Only for you, Fenris,” she chuckled. “Only for you.”

He scowled at her brilliant smile. Then, with a jolt of embarrassment, he realized he was still holding her hand. 

He released her as though she’d scalded him, then folded his arms defensively. “It’s… it is lyrium. I’m sure of it,” he grunted. He was thankful that the cool blue light would disguise his suddenly flaming cheeks. 

She continued to watch him with that shit-eating grin, but Fenris refused to look at her, keeping his gaze instead on the ceiling. Finally she chuckled and folded her arms once more. “Well, whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Don’t you think?”

He twisted his lips. He could understand why she would find it pretty, what with the shimmering light and all, but Fenris had a difficult time seeing beauty in anything made of lyrium. 

He shrugged moodily. “It’s potentially dangerous, that’s what it is. Now shall we go?” 

She shot him an exasperated look. “Come on, Fenris, don’t be so grumpy. Dangerous things can still be beautiful. I should know.” She bit her lower lip and slid a suggestive look from his head down to his toes. 

He wearily gazed at her mischievous little smirk. She really was careless, and so… so damned care _free_. She stood here marvelling at sparkling ceilings when they were supposed to be hunting slavers. She flitted from one place to the next with blood on the soles of her boots and a grin on her face, laughter pouring from her raspberry-red lips as she sauntered straight into spiders’ nests and dragonlings’ dens… 

_Incautious and brash,_ he thought. The ceiling wasn’t the only dangerous thing here. 

Nor was it the only beautiful thing, if Fenris was being truly honest with himself.

His belly was buzzing with an odd sort of warmth, but he ignored it and rolled his eyes. “Enough of this. Let’s move on.” He chivvied her out of the crevice. 

“All right, all right. Whatever you say,” she said. She shot him another smile and a flirtatious wink, then skipped down the stairs to join Isabela and Merrill.

Fenris stepped out of the crevice. But just before he descended the stairs to join the others, he glanced back into the blue-lit crevice one last time. 

The mysterious lights twinkled coolly in the darkness of the ceiling, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. _Likely poisonous,_ he thought. He still couldn’t believe Hawke had wanted to touch them.

He examined the glittering ceiling for another moment. Then Hawke’s bright voice called out to him. “Come on, Fenris, these caves aren’t going to paint themselves red with blood!” 

He finally turned away from the crevice, then made his way over to her side. She smiled smugly up at him as he approached her. “I knew you would like it,” she murmured. 

“I don’t,” he retorted. How could he like something so potentially hazardous? He didn’t know enough about it. 

It was rather beautiful, though.

**\- Act II -**

Hawke slipped through the narrow tunnel, then gasped as she led them into the main cavern. “Ah, I remember this place! Look, just up those stairs…”

Fenris tilted his head in exasperation as he followed her up the stairs toward the narrow crevice in the wall. “What are you doing? You know already what is in there. We won’t find any silverite there.”

“But it’s been years since we were last here,” she reasoned as she slid into the crevice. “People could have hidden - ah! And here we go. A chest.” She grinned triumphantly up at him as he drew close. “Too bad Isabela’s not here. An actual treasure chest! And…”

Fenris watched with a kind of weary patience as she opened the chest. Her shoulders drooped in disappointment, and Fenris raised his eyebrows. 

“A pair of torn trousers,” he deadpanned. “Excellent find. Those will fetch you a shiny copper penny in the Lowtown bazaar.”

She wrinkled her nose and elbowed him lightly in the knee. “Shut up. It was worth a try.” She dusted off her legs as she rose to her feet. “At least this means I get to look at this ceiling again,” she said, and she lifted her chin to admire the mysterious twinkling blue lights.

Fenris shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, then leaned against the side of the cavern. “Varric and Sebastian are likely finished scouting the other passage,” he said. 

“They can wait,” she murmured. “Let them compare the size of their bows or something, even though we all know Varric’s is the biggest. Give me a minute in here. It’s so pretty.” She released a happy sigh.

Fenris hesitated, then grudgingly nodded and waited in silence as Hawke gazed up at the strange blue lights. He vividly remembered the last time they’d come here; at the time, he’d barely known her as more than an apostate mage with a clever tongue, an annoyingly cheerful outlook, and a refreshing degree of humility about her magic. 

Fenris knew Hawke much better now. He noticed how Hawke’s witty tongue stopped people from seeing beneath her smile to the sorrow underneath. He saw the strength of will she needed to cling to that cheerful outlook of hers. He’d watched her difficult dealings with Gamlen and Carver, and he understood why she opened her arms so uninhibitedly to each member of their ragtag little group. 

But Fenris knew even more than this. He knew the slopes of her ribs and the tiny birthmark at the small of her back. He’d run his fingers across the tattoos that twisted across her shoulder blade, and he’d admired the contrast between the hated white lines on his hands and the ebony ink on her golden skin. He’d tasted her skin and her lips and the sweetness between her legs. And then he’d pushed her away, incapable of letting her see him with the same clarity that he saw her. 

_Incapable, or simply unwilling?_ he wondered, as he often did. Was it shame that had made him turn her away, or was it pride? Or worst of all, was it cowardice? Still now, months after that one shining night with her, Fenris wasn’t sure. But what he _was_ certain of was that he couldn’t stand beside Hawke in this tiny, intimate, beautiful little cave without feeling a physical pain in his chest. 

Hawke interrupted his anguished thoughts. “I still think they’re deep mushroom roots,” she said.

He glanced at her to find her lips quirked in a teasing smile. Despite his distress, he managed a tiny smile in return. “I still think you are wrong, and that it’s lyrium.” 

She chuckled softly. “At least we can both agree that they’re blue.”

Fenris tilted his head and studied the glittering lights. “I don’t know, Hawke. I believe they’re more of a turquoise-” 

She snorted with laughter, then nudged him playfully with her hip. “Now you’re just searching for ways to disagree with me.”

“I don’t need to search. You make it so easy,” he teased. 

She grinned at him. “That’s me,” she quipped. “Rynne Hawke, making broody handsome elves’ lives easier since Dragon 9:30.” 

He gave a little huff of amusement, but he couldn’t quite look her in the eye. The would-be joke struck him like a punch to the gut. In many ways, Hawke had made his life easier; she’d helped him scare off Danarius’s hunters, and her assistance had allowed him to bring Hadriana to her well-deserved death. He’d lived in Kirkwall in relative peace for the last three years, largely because of his connection to her. 

But ever since their… split, for lack of a better word, Fenris found it increasingly difficult to be around her. His lingering longing for her was a slow and bitter torture. All that he knew about Hawke - her hidden sorrow, the complexities of her family, the sound of her pleasure cries as she arched her back in bed… Everything he knew about her only served to remind him how little he knew about himself. 

The ache in his chest was slowly moving up toward his throat. He turned away from her, desperately in need of respite from her lovely smile. “We should move on. I’m certain the others have finished comparing their weapons by now,” he said, and he slid out of the crevice. 

A moment later, Hawke emerged as well. “It was probably a short comparison,” she said. “I mean, let’s face it. We all know who carries the biggest weapon of all.” She winked salaciously at him, then skipped down the stairs and off toward the tunnel that would take them to Sebastian and Varric.

He followed her slowly, and he didn’t bother to glance back at the blue-lit little cavern. 

No matter what those blue lights were, they were surely poisonous. Nothing that beautiful was ever really safe.

**\- Act III -**

“This tip had better not be nugshit,” Hawke commented as they wandered through the dank caves. “I do love a good stash of rare books.”

“Tell me again why you need more books?” Isabela asked. “You haven’t read half the ones you already have.”

“Nothing wrong with a well-stocked library,” Varric interjected cheerfully. “And don’t bash Hawke for her reading habits. She’s already read the most important books she owns.”

Fenris smirked at Varric over his shoulder. “By which you mean, of course, that she’s read _Siege Harder_ at least a dozen times.”

Varric smiled. “Exactly.” 

“Hey,” Hawke complained to Fenris. “Don’t pretend you weren’t the one reading it to me. You’ve read it at least three times now.” She pinched Fenris’s earlobe. 

Fenris pinched her waist in retaliation, making her squeak with laughter. Then Isabela chuckled throatily. “ _Oh_. I see why we’re really out here in the middle of nowhere,” she drawled. She tapped Varric on the shoulder, then sashayed toward a tunnel that branched away to the east. “Come on, Varric,” she said. “Let’s go this way and look for these so-called books. Leave these two disgusting lovebirds alone.”

Varric shot Hawke and Fenris a long-suffering long. “There had better actually be a stash of books out here,” he warned. “I didn’t leave the civilization of the city for nothing, you know.” He followed Isabela down the passage. 

“Oh please,” Hawke called after his departing back. “Kirkwall is about as civilized as my mabari.”

“And whose fault is that?” Varric’s echoing voice replied. 

“What, Kirkwall or my mabari?” she yelled. “Either way, it’s not my fault at all!”

Fenris shook his head in amusement. “Come,” he said, then gestured for her to follow him.

They walked through the main cavern and through a rickety doorway, then into another smaller cavern boasting a short set of stairs, and Hawke perked up. “Ooh yes, it’s that little spot with the glittering ceiling!” she chirped. 

Fenris followed her as she hurried up the stairs and slipped into the crevice. Once they were both ensconced in the dark and glowing cave, he gave her a knowing look. “Is there really a stock of rare books somewhere on the Wounded Coast?” he asked. 

She blinked innocently up at him. “Of course! Would I lie to you?” 

He lifted one eyebrow at her. “Perhaps, if it meant escaping the city for some hare-brained adventure scheme.” 

She placed a hand on her chest in mock offense. “Why would I ever want to escape the city? It’s so kind and welcoming there. It smells lovely and not at all like rotten fish. And it’s not at all full of mages and templars and nobles and thieves who want to kill each other. I _love_ the city.” 

“Hmm,” Fenris said. He pulled her against him, then slid his arms around her waist from behind. 

She relaxed back against his chest and sighed heavily, then leaned her head back to look up at the ceiling. “It’s just so peaceful out here on the Coast,” she murmured. “Nice and quiet. Only the screeching of gulls and the cursing of ne’er-do-wells getting rid of dead bodies.” 

Fenris huffed, then gently brushed his cheek against her short dark hair. “Remind me again why we still live in Kirkwall,” he murmured.

He was mostly joking, but Hawke turned slightly in his arms to glance up at him. “Do you want to live somewhere else?” she asked in surprise. 

He tilted his head. He’d never really thought about it; quite honestly, he didn’t care where they lived, as long as they were together. 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Do you?”

She turned around again and was quiet for a long moment. Fenris simply held her as she rubbed her fingers absently against the faded red scarf around his wrist. Then finally she spoke. “I don’t know. It kind of feels like I can’t leave Kirkwall. Not with all the… the stupid Champion business.” She shrugged. “Besides, we can’t leave Isabela and Anders and all the rest. Especially not Varric. If we left, he would probably shed all of his chest hair in distress, and then Isabela would mourn his chest hair and she’d grow all haggard, and then all of Kirkwall would mourn the loss of the sexiest -”

Fenris lowered his head and brushed his lips to her ear. “Hawke,” he murmured. “Whatever happens, I will be at your side.” 

She drew in a deep, slow breath, then exhaled carefully. “I know,” she whispered. She squeezed his hands, and they gazed in silence at the scintillating blue lights for a moment more.

Then Hawke smirked over her shoulder at him. “I still think they’re deep mushroom roots.” 

He smiled back at her, then turned her around to face him and tilted her chin up with a gentle finger. “I don’t care what they are,” he whispered, and he kissed her. 

She slid her arms around his neck, and Fenris wrapped his arms around her waist. He held her tightly and kissed her firmly, and when she broke the kiss with a joyful little laugh, he admired her smiling face.

“Tell me truly,” he murmured. “Is there a stash of rare books to be found out here?”

She smiled mischievously and stroked the back of his neck. “Does it really matter?”

He brushed his nose against her own. “No,” he whispered, and he kissed her again.

The coming days would be fraught with danger; of that, Fenris had no doubt. But until that time, he would follow Hawke’s lead from escapade to foolish escapade, just as he had always done. 

Until that time, he would take pleasure in admiring something beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to reach out to me [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat Broody Elf™!


	26. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the hilarious fact that Merrill makes the same comments when she’s in Fenris’s house as she does Darktown and other yucky places. In other words, Fenris lives like a disgusting bachelor in that squatter’s den of his, and I love him.

I'll follow you into the park  
Through the jungle, through the dark  
Girl, I never loved one like you

Moats and boats and waterfalls  
Alleyways and pay phone calls  
I've been everywhere with you

Laugh until we think we'll die  
Barefoot on a summer night  
Never could be sweeter than with you

And in the streets you run a-free  
Like it's only you and me  
Geez, you're something to see

Home: let me go home  
Home is wherever I'm with you  
Oh, home: let me go home  
Home is wherever I'm with you

[ -"Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4306i99LMXo)  
******************

Hawke stepped through the door to Fenris’s bedroom. “Hello, handsome,” she chirped, then began to tip-toe a convoluted path across the floor.

Fenris glanced up from his book. He watched with growing amusement as she hopped over a broken jug, then skirted her way around a large splatter of mud before almost tripping over a dusty pile of parchment topped with a rusted gauntlet.

“Hawke, what are you doing?” he said flatly. 

She finally teetered over to his bed, then hopped onto the mattress with a sigh of relief. “I just bathed before I came,” she explained. “I didn’t want to get my feet dirty on your disgusting floor.” She grinned teasingly at him as she stretched out on the bed. 

He grunted. “No one is stopping you from keeping your boots on until you reach the bed. You sound like Merrill,” he complained, then adopted a high-pitched simpering voice. “‘I think I stepped in something.’” 

Hawke gaped at him. “Andraste’s flaming knickers. Was that an impression of Merrill?” 

Fenris scowled and lifted his book. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Hawke threw her head back and cackled raucously. “You never do impressions! I must be a bad influence on you.”

“Even more unfortunately, yes,” he said. He set his book aside and pinched her waist. 

She squealed and batted at his hands, but Fenris continued to creep his fingers across her ribs and waist until she was breathless with laughter. “Stop, stop!” she cried. “I take it back, I have no complaints! Your floor is wonderful and lovely and not at all absolutely fucking filthy.” 

Fenris stopped tickling her, then lounged on his back again and tucked one arm behind his head. “Good. I will gladly accept the lack of complaints.”

She continued to wheeze with residual giggles as she snuggled up to his side, and Fenris dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Then he sighed. “You aren’t wrong. This mansion is disgusting.”

She chuckled softly and slid her arm around his waist. “You could clean it, you know. I could give Orana a bonus to come round and give you a hand.”

“That will not be necessary,” he murmured. “It’s been filthy for years. It serves its purpose without being clean.” 

Hawke huffed in amusement. “You’re a strange man, Fenris. Clinging to your bachelor ways, I suppose.”

He smirked slightly, but didn’t reply. In truth, Fenris had considered cleaning the mansion many a time, but he could never quite bring himself to do it. Every time he thought about wiping the shelves or cleaning the floors, all he could remember was that this was the former house of a Tevinter merchant, and a former haven where Danarius had taken refuge. The thought of cleaning a house where Danarius had once resided, even if only briefly… 

_Never,_ he thought viciously, as he always did. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then exhaled and enjoyed the feel of Hawke’s body pressed against his side. 

A moment later, Hawke spoke again. “There’s another solution. You could just move in with me.”

Fenris opened his eyes to find her looking hopefully up at him. Before he could speak, she propped herself up on one elbow. “Hear me out. We spend every night together anyway, so why not just make it official? My mansion is more than big enough for another person. And it feels empty anyway whenever you’re not there. There’s lots of room for your weapons, we can get rid of that statue over the fireplace that you hate, get a new ugly statue instead…” 

She was babbling. Fenris watched affectionately as her cheeks started turning pink. “I know it’ll be a hardship to move out of this charming dump,” she teased. “You’re attached to it, I understand, but-” 

He stroked her arm soothingly. “I’m not,” he corrected. “I have no particular fondness for this place.” Indeed, this squatter’s mansion had always just been a place to sleep and store his gear. The Tevinter taint of this house had prevented him from ever really feeling at home here.

Hawke perked up. “So if you don’t care about this place, move in with me! Let’s do it now! It won’t take more than a couple of trips to bring your things over. Sandal will be delighted, he can start enchanting all your stuff. He’s enchanted most of mine already.” She pushed herself upright and slid her legs over the edge of the bed, as though she was actually preparing to move his things right now in the dead of night.

He sat up and grabbed her arm. “Hawke, wait. I… I don’t want it to be like this.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair. He’d known this moment was coming; she’d been dropping little hints here and there for a couple of weeks that she wanted him to move in. Some of his belongings had already begun their migration to her mansion, small things like comfy clothes and books and a comb, and it only made sense that Fenris himself would follow. 

And of course he wanted to live with Hawke. It was inevitable that they would live together eventually. But despite how comfortable he felt in Hawke’s mansion, the fact remained that it was _her_ home. She’d happily taken in Bodahn and Sandal and Orana already, and Fenris didn’t want to be yet another person living in her house that she needed to support. 

“Your mansion… It is _your_ mansion,” he said.

She raised one eyebrow and smirked. “Yes,” she drawled. “That is a fact.”

He pursed his lips, then continued to explain. “Before I came here, my life was spent living in someone else’s home. As a slave, I never…” He trailed off, then looked away. “Danarius’s home was never my home,” he said gruffly. “I lived under _his_ roof. I ate and I slept at his whim, and he never let me forget it, even while he gloated that he would never let me leave.” Fenris breathed deeply to quell his anger before lifting his eyes to Hawke’s face again. “I won’t feel that way again. I can’t.”

“But it won’t be like that!” she said. She slid closer to him and stroked his thigh, her face creased with concern. “You won’t feel that way in my - in the mansion. You’ll be living _with_ me, not under me. Well, I mean, you’ll be under me half the time, if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows and smirked. “But it won’t be like-” 

“I know,” Fenris interrupted. “I know it’s not the same. I just…” He took a deep breath, then finally said what he really wanted to say - and what he’d been thinking about for months, ever since they’d gotten back together.

He took her hands. “Hawke, I don’t want to live in _your_ house. I want… I want to live in _our_ house. I want something that we’ve bought together. I want to build a home together with you.”

A brilliant smile lifted her lips, and Fenris’s heart thumped with hope at the sheer joy in her face. She ducked her head bashfully before lifting her face and pushing her bangs back. “I hope you don’t mean literally,” she quipped. “Because I’ve got all the construction skills of a baby nug.”

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “You know what I mean.” He tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “I want to live with you,” he said softly. “ _Kaffas,_ Hawke, I want… I want that very much. But… I want to buy a home _with_ you.” He swallowed hard; now this was the truly difficult part. “Hawke, would you… would you be willing to give up the Amell estate to move somewhere new with me? If you need time to think about it, I-” 

“Of course,” she blurted. She straddled his lap and slid her arms around his neck. “Of course I will.”

Fenris’s regarded her with surprise. He’d expected at least a little resistance. “Just like that? I thought…”

Hawke shook her head. “It was my mother who wanted the estate,” she said. “I bought it for her. Restore the Amell name and all that. But I never cared about it, not really. I’m a Hawke,” she said simply. “I’m Rynne Hawke, not Rynne Amell. I don’t need that house to tell me who I am. Besides, it’s so bloody big. Gamlen is welcome to it if he wants. You and I can get something smaller. Sandal and Bodahn are leaving me soon enough anyway, so we won’t need as much room.”

Fenris frowned, distracted by this surprising news. She hadn’t told him that Bodahn and Sandal were leaving. “What? Why?”

“They got a better offer, working for Empress Celene or something,” Hawke said vaguely. “Can you imagine wanting to work for the most powerful woman in Orlais instead of little old me?” She smirked, but her eyes were downcast.

Fenris stroked her back. He knew that Bodahn and Sandal had never been just the household help to her. “I’m sorry, Hawke.” 

She shrugged, then lifted her eyes back to his face. “Well, where one dwarf closes a door, a handsome broody elf opens a window. That’s a thing they say, right?” 

He studied her smile and the sadness in her eyes. “Not that I have ever heard,” he said softly. “It sounds like the set-up for a poor joke. You should pass it on to Varric.”

She smiled more broadly, and Fenris was glad when the sadness waned from her face. “I will,” she said, then she tucked her head cozily against his neck and tucked her fists under her chin. “So, when can we start looking for a new house?” 

He wrapped his arms more securely around her. “I need some time to gather coin,” he admitted. “A few more months, perhaps.” He’d continued doing mercenary and delivery jobs in his spare time and he’d sold most of his finest weapons, but much of his savings had been wasted on Varania. 

“All right,” she murmured. “I can wait. You’re worth it, I suppose.” She poked him playfully in the belly. 

He grunted, then squeezed her hard until she squeaked in amusement. They sat in a bubble of warm contentment for a while, her eyelashes fluttering against his neck with her every blink and her body warm in his embrace. 

Then Fenris spoke again, unable to quash his lingering concerns. “You are certain you don’t mind giving up your mansion? It seems a big sacrifice.”

Hawke leaned away to look at him, and her face was serious as she stroked his chin. “I don’t care about the estate,” she said firmly. “Believe me, Fenris. I don’t care. Some things are more important than a big old house.” 

He gazed into her brilliant bronze eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude and warmth and love - so much love, it felt like his ribs couldn’t contain it. He cupped her neck in his lyrium-lined hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “Hawke,” he rasped. “If I had a mansion to give you, I would. I… I would give you everything.” 

She shook her head slightly. “You already have, you handsome fool. Don’t you know that by now?”

He closed his stinging eyes, breathing in the scent of her freshly-soaped skin as she stroked his neck with her thumbs. Then he tilted his head and kissed her. 

Hawke slid her fingers into his hair as she returned his kiss, and Fenris clasped her close, grateful for her precious warmth and weight against his body. Her lips pulled gently at his own, nipping delicately at his lower lip, then her mouth trailed across his jaw to the base of his ear. 

She gently licked his neck. A shiver of heat sparked to life in his belly, and Fenris inhaled and lifted his hips. Hawke’s fingers slipped beneath his shirt, her fingers trailing up his abs as her tongue trailed along the tendon in his neck, and moments later his tunic was on the floor, accompanied by Hawke’s loose linen tank top. 

She dropped her mouth to his neck again, nipping lightly along the lyrium scars that led to his shoulder. Fenris stroked her bare back distractedly, then released a needy gasp as her hand burrowed into his trousers. 

She stroked his swiftly-swelling cock, then pressed her raspberry-red lips to his ear. “You want to give me something? Give me this,” she whispered.

She ran her thumb around the head of his cock, and he nodded his head. “Gladly,” he groaned. A few frenzied moments later, they were both nude, and Hawke was straddling his lap again, and Fenris was gasping as she stroked the length of his cock with her palm. 

She lowered her head toward the other side of his neck, but Fenris stopped her with a gentle hand on her jaw. He dropped his lips to her neck and flicked his tongue into the notch at the base of her throat, and Hawke leaned back into the support of his other arm as his lips and tongue drifted down her sternum and over her breast. 

She squeezed his cock, and Fenris bit her nipple with a moan, and then her slick and silken heat was poised above him, taking him in, sliding onto the steely length of his cock inch by exquisite inch, and his groan of bliss poured across Hawke’s lips as she kissed him again. 

She pressed down against his hips to take him deep, and their moans of pleasure melded together in an undeniable mix of lust and love. Fenris splayed his palms on her shoulder blades, supporting her as she lifted and lowered herself along the length of his shaft in a slow, smooth slide. He savoured her slick heat squeezing him from tip to base, and he breathed his pleasure against her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple with every rise and fall of her hips. Then, when her riding began to grow more fast and frantic, Fenris slid his hand between their bodies and brushed his knuckles over the curls between her legs. 

Instantly her breath caught in her chest. She slowed her pace to a near-stop, then braced her weight back on her hands. “Yes,” she breathed.

Fenris dropped his gaze between her legs. Gently he parted the curls that veiled her sex, then pressed the knuckle of his index finger against the swollen bud of her pleasure. 

Hawke keened with want, then rolled her hips toward his hand. Fenris stared at her, eyes fixed on the undulating wave of her body as she rolled toward his knuckles and pressed her clit against his fingers with the exact rhythm and pressure that suited her best. He watched with rising eagerness as her beautiful face began to twist, lush lips dropping open, her belly going taut as the rolling of her hips grew jerky. When she drew a tremulous gasp of a breath, Fenris reached for her arm. 

“F-Fenris,” she cried, and he pulled her shuddering back body toward him and thrust into her hard. 

“Oh fuck,” she wailed, and then her mouth was crying out against his own, hands gripping his hair as he held her hips and fucked her fast and firm. The mattress springs groaned beneath them, and their bodies slapped together with a satisfying smack of skin-on-skin. Her breath was hot against his cheek, and his pleasure was gathering with every hard pump of his hips, and then - _venhedis,_ then she was actively slamming her hips back down against him, and Fenris gasped with a growing delirious delight. Hawke’s breasts, her lips, the rapture in her face, the sweat that collected between their bodies as they fucked: Fenris loved this, loved the messiness and the breathless frenzy and the way she came undone in his hands. He loved it all, but more than the sex, more than the surging rise of his climax and the way it shattered over him like a tingling wave pulsing through his limbs, he loved _her_. 

They breathed together in the afterglow, her hands on his neck and her sweaty forehead pressed to his. Hawke’s eyes were closed, but Fenris’s eyes were open, taking in the shape of her lips and fan of her eyelashes, and he simply gazed at her until she opened her eyes and smiled. 

He kissed her gently, and Hawke kissed him back. Someday soon, they would have a home to call their own, something that belonged to the two of them together. But here in Hawke’s arms, cocooned in the scent of their sex and the warmth of their mutual adoration, Fenris realized that it didn’t matter where they lived, whether it was a tent on the Wounded Coast or a shack in Lowtown or the biggest mansion in Kirkwall. 

As long as he and Hawke were together, he would be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you're in the mood to squeal Broody Elf with me!


	27. Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for al_fletcher! The prompt: three words - relic, wild, chest.  
> Warning for Fenris being mean to Merrill, as always. TT^TT  
> And also smut. Surprise surprise.
> 
> I am a bit tired today, my friends, so I hope this is up to its usual standards... I might edit tomorrow when I've gotten some sleep >_< forgive me!

There once was a time when Fenris was treated as little more than a beast.

 _Danarius’s Little Wolf,_ they called him. He was paraded around the city at Danarius’s side, shown off shirtless during the magister’s blasted parties, ordered to attack and to kill and to rip his master’s enemies limb from limb. He was whipped and beaten and subjugated when he dared so much as curl his lip. When anyone deigned to speak to him, it was as though to an animal; their voices were condescending or fearful, exactly as though Fenris was a rabid wolf: wild but caged, and controlled through cruelty. 

At night, when Danarius was asleep, Fenris stretched out on the cot in the tiny room where he slept and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. For hours on end, he focused on the rise and fall of his own ribs. He forced his mind to remain blank, to not revisit the routine ugliness of each passing day: the averted eyes of the other slaves, the covetous stares of the magisters, the unwelcome crawl of Danarius’s fingers on his skin. 

But there were nights when he wasn’t able to block out the thoughts. On those nights, the particularly vile nights where oblivion did not seem too terrible an option, Fenris curled up on the cot in the tiny room where he slept. He shoved his pillow against his mouth, and he shoved his fingers through his hair, and he howled.

There was nothing else he could do. He was trapped and chained, a beast with no agency of his own and no choice but to follow the orders of the man who held those chains. So when the despair became almost too great to bear, Fenris released it the only way he could: as a roar of rage. 

He gripped his hair until his scalp bloomed with agony. He bit his pillow until his jaw ached, and he screamed and screamed into the silence until he could taste iron in his throat. 

That was many years ago. His life was nothing like that anymore. Fenris was no whipped and mindless beast; he was a man who walked on his own two feet with his head held high. He was nobody’s pet, and he was no one’s little wolf. He rarely felt the kind of mind-consuming rage that he used to feel when he’d first come to Kirkwall; he had freedom and friends, and these twofold boons had gone a long way toward softening his rougher edges. 

Most importantly of all, Fenris had Hawke. She sauntered at his side with her cheeky smile, those brilliant copper eyes steady on his face as she cracked her jokes and clasped his hand. In Hawke’s irreverent voice and her unabashedly open heart, Fenris had found the kind of calm that he’d never quite managed to achieve on his own. 

Unfortunately, habits were hard to break. Being treated as a beast for years on end wasn’t something that could be simply wiped away, and lashing out in a fit of unfettered rage had long been Fenris’s habit. Under the wrong circumstances, his residual rage was still wont to burst forth like maggots from a bloated corpse.

And spending time with Merrill was just the kind of wrong circumstance that brought out the worst of his temper. 

“I just don’t understand why you won’t come to the alienage,” the little elf complained. “You only come when Hawke brings you. Don’t you want to get to know the other elves?”

He threw her a scathing look. “You are a hypocrite,” he said bluntly. “You’ve gotten to know them only because you were unable to fix your cursed relic. You have nothing else with which to occupy your time.” He folded his arms and glanced over at Varric. The dwarf was taking an awfully long time to peruse the armour seller’s wares; such errands were much quicker when Hawke was present. _Probably because she chooses gifts based on gut instinct rather than logic,_ he thought idly. 

Then he pursed his lips as Merrill’s voice penetrated his thoughts again. “You didn’t answer me,” she said. “Why don’t you like the alienage? Don’t you want to help our people?”

“So it’s ‘our’ people now, is it?” he sneered. “Your former clan made it very clear that I am not a ‘real elf’. And don’t act like you know the plight of the elves. Living among city elves is not the same as being one. You Dalish have privileges that the city elves do not, and still you complain and wave around your alleged heritage as though it’s all that matters.”

“But you’re not a city elf either,” Merrill argued. “Not like the ones in the-”

“No, I am not a normal city elf,” he snapped. “I was a _slave._ Do you wish to tell me I have greater privilege over them?”

He could hear the snap of rage roughening his words, a perfect reflection of the anger that was simmering in his chest. He pinned Merrill with a fierce glare, but the blasted little mage only pouted. 

“Of course not,” she retorted, “not when you were a slave! But you’re free now. You have lots of privileges now. Why don’t you-” 

He spun toward her. “Shut your mouth, witch,” he hissed. “You had every opportunity to help the alienage for years, but you sat in your hovel playing with your blood magic toys and whining about a long-forgotten past while people were being _mugged_ right outside your door.”

Merrill opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Fenris took a threatening step toward her. “Do not speak to me of helping,” he snarled. “Do not speak to me of how I have _privileges._ In fact, do not speak to me at all, not unless you wish me to reach into your open mouth and drag out your heart.” 

He waited for her lip to tremble, hoping against hope that she would run away as she usually did, but to his intense displeasure, she squared her shoulders and glared back at him. 

“You don’t scare me, Fenris,” she said. “I know you won’t do anything to me.”

Fenris glared at her with a fresh surge of fury. She was far too bold, too confident in her own misbegotten magic. _This is exactly what I warned Hawke about,_ he thought. He could practically see the undeserved power writhing behind Merrill’s eyes and begging to be set free. 

“And what will _you_ do?” he retorted. “Will you strike me down? Suck the life from my veins with that malevolent magic of yours?”

Her perky little face creased with anger, and Fenris’s own ire was only further goaded by her indignation. “Go on,” he hissed, “curse me. Cut your wrists. I dare you to try. Templars are roaming every street corner. Let them drag you off to the Circle. I, for one, would not mourn your loss.” 

She scowled at him for a moment longer, then finally took a step back. “You’re lucky Hawke isn’t here,” she said. “She wouldn’t like hearing you be so mean.” She turned on her heel and stalked away.

“If you think I won’t tell her about this, you’re wrong,” he shouted after her. He glared at her retreating back for a moment, then folded his arms and turned around to face the market again. 

Then he realized that the myriad occupants of Hightown’s market were staring at him. “Uncivilized knife-ears,” someone muttered. 

Fenris speared the speaker with a withering sneer until she hurried away, then hunched his shoulders defensively and strode over to Varric’s side. 

Varric shot him a casual little glance. “So I guess inviting both you and Daisy on this shopping trip wasn’t the best idea.”

“It stuns me that you thought it would be,” Fenris said acidly. He certainly hadn’t expected Merrill to be here when he’d accepted Varric’s invitation to find Donnic a nameday gift. 

“Ah, you know me,” Varric said. “I’m a hopeful kind of guy.” He waved good-bye to the armour seller, then gazed thoughtfully up at Fenris for a moment before shrugging. “Anyway, let’s keep going. We’re running out of time. Lowtown bazaar?”

Fenris shook his head. “I can’t do this right now,” he muttered. “I am going back to Hawke’s.” The occupants of the market were still staring at him, their faces filled with fear and scorn and condescension, and the market was too exposed. Fenris felt too raw to cope with any more human contempt right now. 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who knows Donnic the best. The party’s tonight. You really have to go right now?”

“Yes,” he snapped, then took a deep breath to calm his temper. The fight wasn’t Varric’s fault, after all. 

In a calmer voice, he said, “Yes. I will join you shortly at the Hanged Man.”

“All right, fine,” Varric grumbled. “Don’t be too long. Hawke only gave me one job for this party.” 

Fenris grunted his assent, then loped off toward Hawke’s mansion as swiftly as he could without drawing further undue attention. 

As he made his way through Hightown’s bright and busy streets, he ruminated over the argument with Merrill. He hadn’t thought it was possible for her to be more infuriating than she already was, but her growing familiarity with the city elves seemed only to reinforce her insistence that the so-called old ways needed to be restored. 

_She’s a hypocrite,_ he thought angrily as he slid past a harried-looking Chantry brother and a group of gossiping noble girls. _Accusing me of not helping, when she does not even truly understand their plight._ Merrill was a fantasist, a naive and spoiled child stuck in half-forgotten dreams of the past. Hawke had told him how Merrill cleaned her blasted broken eluvian every night, the only fastidiously kept item in her messy little hovel. Letting her keep the evil thing would come back to bite them one day; Fenris was sure of it. 

_We should have made her break it,_ he thought. He was fuming by the time he let himself into the Amell mansion. “Hawke?” he called.

“Back here!” Her voice emanated from the study, and Fenris followed the sunny sound as she continued to talk. “Did you get the gift already? That was fast. I hope you got him a fancy shaving kit. Aveline might disagree, but I think Donnic’s sideburns are getting a tad out of hand.” She looked up from the sloppy pile of decorations on her desk and smiled as he entered the study, but her smile fell as her eyes landed on his face. 

“Oh shit. What’s wrong?” she asked.

 _Merrill is a blood mage, that’s what’s wrong,_ he thought acerbically. He took a deep breath, ready to launch into the familiar argument for the umpteenth time. 

“Do you think I have done nothing to help other elves?” he said instead. 

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up, and Fenris closed his mouth, equally surprised at what he’d said. 

She eyed him carefully. “Well, that was unexpected. What brought this on?” she asked.

He frowned. This wasn’t what he’d meant to talk about, but now that it was out there… 

He leaned against Hawke’s desk and folded his arms as he began to explain. “Varric invited Merrill, as well,” he said. “She said I do nothing to help the city elves, simply because I don’t like visiting the alienage.” 

Hawke brushed her spiky bangs out of her eye as she glanced at him. “And since when do you listen to Merrill?”

He shot her an annoyed look, and she put down the decorations and soothingly stroked his arm. “You do avoid the alienage as much as possible,” she gently pointed out. “I’ve always wondered a bit about that.”

He shrugged bad-temperedly. “I don’t need to go there to see how badly my race is treated. I have seen and lived through far worse.” He irritably flicked a speck of dirt from his gauntlet. In truth, the alienage was a constant reminder that he was one of the few elves who had succeeded in escaping the poverty and much of the persecution that plagued their race. It was undeniable that Fenris’s current circumstances were actually quite fortunate indeed.

This fact needled him, somehow. Hawke had always encouraged him to enjoy his freedom, to take pleasure in the pleasant life he now led, and for the most part, he did. But going to the alienage made it hard to do that. The worst was over for him, but for many elves - elves who were not so different from Fenris - the hardships of their lives might never cease, and going to the alienage was a glaring reminder of that.

Whether they would agree or not, the city elves were trapped. Like pigs in a pen, they were corralled into the smallest and shittiest part of Lowtown. They were spat on and talked down to, treated no better than beasts. And Fenris _hated_ remembering how it felt to live that way.

He angrily ran a hand through his hair, and Hawke placed a placating hand on his chest. “Hey,” she said softly. “Look at it this way. You’ve murdered piles of slavers, right? Slavers pray on elves more than anyone else, and no one has racked up quite the body count that you have. That must count for something, right? That’s helping.” 

He shrugged again, not feeling entirely reassured. The more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder if maybe, for once in her life, Merrill was right. 

Hawke reached up and gently stroked his chin. “You are helping people, Fenris,” she said. “We’re always running around doing all these bloody good deeds, right? It might not always be elves that we’re helping, per se, but… well, there are only so many hours in a day for everything we get asked to do.” She grimaced comically. “I’m not helping much, am I?”

He hesitated before replying, and Hawke gave a little laugh and leaned against him. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess this is the kind of help you can expect from a shem.” She lifted her head and looked up at him. “Am I using that word correctly?”

He smirked at her, a bit of his ill humour fading in the face of her endearing foolishness. “Yes,” he said. “But it’s usually reserved for the kind of human that would call _me_ a knife-ear.” 

She gasped in mock horror. “Go wash your mouth with soap, young man. I won’t have such filthy fucking language in my house.” She kissed him noisily on the cheek, then turned back to her desk. “If you’re finished your errand, can you help me decorate?” 

Fenris reluctantly pushed away from the desk. “I would, but… we haven’t quite gotten Donnic’s gift yet,” he admitted. “I am due to meet with Varric at the Hanged Man.” Truth be told, he would rather remain here; he was still feeling irritable, and he wasn’t in the mood to leave the house again. 

Hawke shot him a smirk. “And you think you’ll find a gift at the Hanged Man? Well, I suppose you could get him a bottle of something. But then he’ll just think we hate him.” She picked up an orange silk banner from the desk, then stepped onto her desk chair and onto the desk itself. 

She unfolded the banner and stood on her tip-toes to reach for a small hanging peg in the wall, and Fenris idly watched the rising hem of her short silken skirt as she stretched her arms overhead. She stretched a bit further, and her skirt rode a bit higher, and Fenris was suddenly distracted from his disgruntlement: he’d noticed something interesting. 

Very interesting, in fact. 

He stepped up to the desk and lifted the hem of Hawke’s skirt. 

Hawke squealed with surprise and smacked his hand, but it was too late; his suspicions had been confirmed. “Where are your underpants?” he demanded.

She pulled the edge of her skirt down to cover her bare buttock, then grinned down at him. “Hanging to dry,” she said. “I forgot to ask Orana to do the laundry.” She shrugged defensively. “I was too busy planning this party! It’s been so long since we had something to celebrate!” 

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t think. His body was suddenly thrumming with lust, a heady and entirely unexpected rush that filled his cock and burned through his fingertips and his face. 

He lifted his eyes back to hers, and he watched with a dark kind of satisfaction as her cheeks began to redden. “Come down from there,” he said. 

She smiled slowly at him. “I can’t. I have set-up to do.” She turned around to fully face the wall, and Fenris’s hungry eyes fell onto her ass again. 

She reached up to hang the banner, and he stared as the slippery fabric of her skirt slid up to reveal the undercurve of her butt. “Setting up can wait,” he growled. Then he slid his palm up the back of her calf. 

She laughed and kicked at him. “Hands off, you pervert! At least help me with… with this, uh… this banner thing.” 

He smirked as she trailed off distractedly, and for good reason; his fingers were sliding smoothly up the back of her thigh. 

“No,” he said. “Not until you get down off the desk.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said, and Fenris smirked more broadly still at the breathless sound of her voice. Then she bent toward the wall, curving her lower spine so the edge of her skirt slid higher still. 

_Minx,_ he thought darkly. She was purposely goading him, and it was so damned effective. His lust was growling more loudly now, roiling low in his belly and demanding to be fed as he stared at the half-hidden cleft of her bottom. 

He pulled off his gauntlets, then curled his fingers around her tender inner thigh and savoured her breathless gasp as he slid his fingers higher, up to the juncture of her thighs. “Fine,” he said brusquely. “Stay right where you are, then.” He eyed her perfectly presented bottom, which was right at his eye level. He didn’t need her to come down, after all; the height of her desk was perfect for his purposes.

He unceremoniously shoved the decorations off the desk, and Hawke tutted loudly. “That was rude,” she scolded. “You’d better not have broken anything.”

He ignored her words and tapped her ankle. “Spread your legs,” he said.

She huffed out a laugh, but obeyed his instruction. “Andraste’s tit, you are so bossy. I could get used to - oh - oh _fuck!_ ” 

She jolted back toward his face. He’d shoved her skirt up roughly, and now his tongue was sliding along the length of her cleft, slipping through her sweet-and-salty musk as she spread her legs even further and leaned against the wall. 

Fenris licked hungrily at her moisture for a moment, then lifted his head. “Where are Orana and Bodahn?” he asked, and he slid a finger through her slippery heat. 

She panted and tilted her hips toward him, then smirked over her shoulder. “You’re only now thinking to ask?”

“Answer the question,” he growled, and Hawke released a sunny little laugh. “I gave them the day off,” she said. “But they’ll be back for the party -”

“Good,” he said. Then he bent his head low and licked her again.

“Maker’s fucking breath, Fenris,” she whined, then leaned her head against the wall as he lapped at her pussy. He teased her swollen little bud and tasted every slick fold as she pressed her hips back toward his face. She tasted so delightfully raw, and the pleasured sounds that ghosted from her lips were like music to his ears, and everything about her was calling to him, calling to the furious roaring lust that had rushed over him so suddenly, subsuming his irritation and his unease and his ire until all that was left was _need_.

He needed to hear her cries. He needed to feel her pulsing around his cock. That was the only thing that would lessen this heady burn of want that was making him feel so rough. 

He angled his head slightly and lapped at her clit with the flat of his tongue, and then Hawke was breathing hard, loud gasping breaths that seemed to rasp through her chest until suddenly she threw back her head. 

“Fenris!” she screamed. 

She shuddered against the wall, and Fenris growled into her flesh, delving his tongue inside of her for a moment before resuming the smooth circling of her clit with the tip of his tongue. A long moment later, she reached behind herself and stroked his ear. 

He leaned away from her and roughly wiped his face on his hand. “Get down off the desk,” he commanded, and even he could hear that his voice was more gravelly than usual. 

She shakily turned around, and Fenris helped her hop down off the desk. She almost fell as soon as her feet touched the ground, and he hastily wrapped his arms around her to support her weight.

She gripped his shoulders convulsively as she grinned at him. “Fuck’s sake,” she breathed. “I can barely walk.” 

“Then don’t,” he said. He half-carried her over to the fireplace, then released her and jerked his chin at the rug in front of the fire. “Get on your knees,” he said.

She swiftly obeyed and watched with wide eyes as he untied his belt. “I could get used to this,” she panted. “You being in charge, calling the shots, deciding what we do…” 

He quickly freed his manhood from his breeches. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what was compelling him to be so authoritative, but as long as Hawke didn’t mind, he wasn’t going to stop. “Turn around,” he said. 

She shuffled close to him, then planted her palms on his thighs. “I have a better idea,” she purred, then she took his full length into her mouth. 

Fenris gasped as his cock slid into the hot depths of her throat. She pumped her lips along his length, taking him firm and deep until her nose brushed his belly, and Fenris watched as she dropped one hand from his thigh to the curls between her legs. She caressed herself while suckling him hard, pulling his pleasure from his belly to the very surface of his skin. Within minutes, she was shaking and whimpering against his cock as she came for the second time. 

Fenris gasped and groaned under the ministrations of her mouth, and when Hawke pulled away to draw a gasping breath, he gripped her chin. “Turn around, Hawke,” he rasped. “I need you now. Right now.”

She nodded eagerly, then leaned forward on her elbows as she spread her legs, and Fenris took a moment to admire the perfect pose of her body. He slid a reverent hand over the smooth golden skin of her backside, then took hold of her hips and slammed himself in deep. 

She cried out in rapture, and within seconds they were fucking each other hard, his fingers tight in her hips as she bucked back against him with the same heated fervour as he was driving in. Her eagerness was as ripe as his own, obvious in the desperation of her bucking hips and the delicious wetness that was coating his cock as thoroughly as her thighs. Fenris gritted his teeth as he fucked her, his rapture rising steadily from his abdomen into his chest and higher to roil in his throat - at the back of his tongue - pressing against his clenched teeth - 

“ _Venhedis,_ ” he gritted, and then he cried out as his climax smashed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, lights bursting behind his eyelids as he tried desperately to suck in a breath, and when he finally succeeded at pulling air back into his lungs, he expelled it in a rush as he bent over Hawke’s prone form. 

Fenris breathed hard against her back, relaxing into the rise and fall of her ribs beneath his cheek. Once his heartbeat had slowed, he withdrew from her and carefully rearranged her skirt. 

She released a breathless laugh. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Just one more thing that I’ll need to throw in the laundry.” She flopped onto her back with a happy sigh. 

Fenris refastened his breeches and stretched out beside her, and she grinned impishly at him. “Well, that was amazing,” she said.

He shuffled close and slid his arm around her waist. Every scrap of his anger was burnt out now, expelled as thoroughly as though he’d been cleansed of a demon. He gently rubbed his cheek against her neck. “It was not my intention to be so rough,” he said softly. 

“Don’t be silly. You were hardly rough,” she said. She tweaked his ear playfully. “You should come fuck me more often when you’re mad. My words are rubbish, but _that’s_ a way I can most certainly help.” 

Fenris tenderly brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead. “Don’t discount yourself,” he said. “This is not the only way you help. You always listen, Hawke. Even when you don’t agree with me. I have always cherished that.”

Her jocular smile softened, and she stroked his cheek with her knuckles. “Of course, you handsome fool,” she murmured. “Whatever you need. I’m all yours, you know.”

He brushed her cheek with his nose. “I know,” he whispered. Then, for the first time that afternoon, he kissed her rosy lips. 

Fenris was nobody’s pet, and he was no one’s little wolf. He rarely felt the kind of mind-consuming rage that used to plague him when he was trapped under Danarius’s thumb. But on those rare occasions when his anger rose up, rearing its ugly head and threatening to steal his hard-won happiness, Hawke was there. 

She made him laugh with her foolish tongue, and she offered him her open heart. She helped him find the calm that he’d never quite managed to find on his own. For this - and for so many other reasons, so many that he couldn’t stop to count - Fenris would love her forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I am Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to stop by and squeal Broody Elf with me! xo


	28. Mark of the Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is basically the _Mark of the Assassin_ DLC from Fenris’s POV, with my own embellishments, as always. I don’t know about you guys, but I took Fenris and Anders on this quest. And then they had to run around the keep together trying to find Hawke. Bahahaha. *Mortal Kombat voice* ROUND 1: FIGHT.
> 
> But the real reason I wrote this is because of the bit where Tallis asks Hawke if she's married and the ensuing Fenris banter. YES, OK I WROTE TEN THOUSAND WORDS BECAUSE OF A <10-SECOND BIT OF BANTER. SUE ME. 
> 
> I don’t particularly enjoy ‘novelizing’ entire long canon scenes, so I’ve cut out a few minor parts and tried to minimize the battle sequences. I hope that’s ok.

Fenris glowered at Anders’s back as they made their way along the cultivated path to Chateau Haine.

Hawke elbowed him. “Listen,” she murmured, “I know it’s a fond wish of yours, but I don’t think he’ll burst into flame just because you stare at him. You can keep trying, but…” 

“I don’t like it,” Fenris muttered. “You shouldn’t have brought him. He’s a liability.”

“I wasn’t very well going to leave him alone in Kirkwall, now was I?” she retorted. “Besides, the fresh air might be good for him. A little space from the city, some nature…”

Fenris gave her an irritated look. “He’s not a cooped-up mabari. He is an abomination. This is a mistake.”

“You know I can still hear you,” Anders called over his shoulder. 

“Good,” Fenris said loudly. “You are an abomination, and I wish Hawke hadn’t brought you.”

Hawke tutted and pinched his underarm, and he scowled at her. Then Tallis spoke up. “We’re almost there,” she said. “Should we maybe, um, pretend to be civil?”

“Of course,” Hawke said. “Pretending to be civil is our specialty. Right, boys?” She slung her arm around Fenris’s waist, then slipped her hand through the crook of Anders’s elbow and smiled winningly at him. 

Fenris clicked his tongue in disgust, and Anders rolled his eyes, and Tallis gave them all a funny look before continuing along the path, her jaunty ponytail swinging in the breeze. 

Fenris frowned at her for a moment before turning to Hawke. “I still don’t quite understand why we are doing this,” he said quietly. “This is a risky venture with little apparent payoff. It is a fool’s errand, even for you.” 

“I hate to agree with Fenris, but… I agree,” Anders said. “What is it with you and helping cute elves with no self-preservation instinct?” 

“Ah, so you admit you think Fenris is cute?” Hawke said shrewdly to Anders. Then she laughed as the two men glared at each other. “Come on, you two, it’s an outing. It’s an escape! If I’d known you would both be such sticklers, I’d have brought Bels and Aveline instead.”

“And you think Aveline would be less of a stickler than us?” Anders said in mock offense. 

She chuckled and continued to tease Anders as she dragged them up the path in Tallis’s wake, but Fenris studied her shrewdly from the corner of his eye. _An escape_ , she’d said. And that explained everything. 

The tension between Kirkwall’s mages and Templars was growing worse with every passing day. Hawke received daily pleas for help from both pro-Templar and pro-mage correspondents, and their crew had been tasked with taking down at least one abomination a day for the past week or so. But Fenris knew Hawke was worried that Terrie’s apostate escape routes had dried up completely. Meanwhile, Anders claimed that half the mages in the Circle had been made Tranquil, and Fenris wasn’t certain anymore that he was exaggerating. 

Kirkwall was an utter mess. It was a powder keg set to explode at the slightest spark. So naturally, Hawke wanted to escape. Fenris’s dark-haired lover was skilled at many things, but choosing sides wasn’t one of them. 

Moments later, Chateau Haine came into view. Hawke straightened up and released both Anders and Fenris. “All right, you fine specimens. Party faces on, all right?” She pinched Fenris’s chin affectionately, then hurried ahead to join Tallis in introducing herself to the Duke. 

A few minutes later, during which Fenris was - as usual - assumed to be Hawke’s manservant, they set off down another path in search of some blasted creature called a wyvern. 

_Manservant,_ Fenris thought resentfully. It might only be a cover, but it was still galling. “Is it wrong of me to cheer for the wyverns?” he groused. 

“Just ignore the nobles,” Tallis advised. “Keep an eye out for signs. The sooner we kill a wyvern, the sooner we get into the keep.”

“And what are we supposed to do? Beat the bushes with sticks?” Anders said archly.

Tallis shot him an amused look as they made their way toward a thick copse of pine trees. “Never been hunting before, I see. You’re a real city boy, aren’t you?” 

Anders lifted an eyebrow at her. “Sweetheart, I’ve hunted a lot of things. Just not a bloody wyvern.” 

Hawke chuckled and playfully smacked Anders’s ass. “Darkspawn and demons aren’t quite the same as wild animals, my friend. Lead the way, Tallis. Just tell us what to do.”

They loped along as Tallis described the clues to keep an eye out for. As they searched for signs of wyvern occupation, Fenris had to admit that the grounds were quite lovely: trees and grass and rocks and such. It was an interesting change from the Wounded Coast’s barren beaches and from Kirkwall’s general… smell. 

As always when she met someone new, Hawke aggressively flirted with Tallis as they wandered the hunting grounds, and Fenris listened with a mixture of resignation and annoyance as Tallis flirted back. Then, as Tallis collected some blood from a dragonling they’d just killed, she asked Hawke an interesting question. 

“Are you married?” she said as she capped the bottle of dragonling blood.

Fenris looked up from the dragonling corpse in time to see Hawke grinning saucily at the redheaded elf. “Is that a proposal?” she teased.

Tallis smiled and shrugged. “It’s just… you’re the champion of Kirkwall. Big. Important. I don’t know. Just wondering if there’s a spouse behind the throne.” 

_All right, that’s enough,_ Fenris thought. He’d sat back and watched this idle flirtation for long enough. He strolled over to Hawke’s side. “A fine question,” he drawled, then slid an unmistakably possessive hand down Hawke’s back. Tallis could try her best, but she’d have to go through him. 

To his surprise, Hawke’s cheeks instantly went red. She grinned up at him, then ducked her head coyly and gave a nervous little giggle. “Let’s, er, let’s keep moving, shall we?” She shot Fenris another unusually shy smile, then continued along the path. 

“Oh,” Tallis said. She looked at Fenris with wide eyes, then at Hawke. “Are you two together?”

“Of course,” Hawke said. A flush of pink still painted her cheeks. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Not really,” Tallis said. “Not with the, um.” She pointed vaguely between herself and Hawke. “And then there was the, err…” She pointed at Anders, then mimed a butt-smacking gesture. 

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Tallis. I’m just an incorrigible flirt, that’s all.”

“She really is,” Anders called out from the dragon bones he was inspecting. “It never stops.” 

Hawke chuckled. “No one is safe from my irresistible charms. But I assure you, Fenris is the only one for me.” She blew him a kiss, and he smirked at her in return. He knew Hawke was just having her fun with Tallis, but the reassurance was still… nice to hear. 

Tallis, meanwhile, continued to study them curiously. “You’re not married, though?” she asked.

Hawke laughed again, and Fenris watched with growing interest as her cheeks reddened even further. “Andraste’s tits, you’re a tenacious little thing, aren’t you?” she purred. “No, we’re not married. Not that that matters.” She shot Fenris another oddly bashful look, then strolled away to join Anders. 

_Hmm._ Bashful was not one of Hawke’s usual modes. He pondered her odd reaction as they wandered the grounds, killing piles of those obnoxious ghasts and fooling around with some cursed chest while collecting items for baiting the blasted wyvern. But the bright morning sun continued to make its steady way across the sky, and by midday, Fenris had had quite enough of this aimless wandering through the woods. 

His irritation must have been showing, because Hawke sidled up to him and took his hand. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

He shrugged bad-temperedly. “This had better be worth it. That is all I have to say,” he muttered. 

She squeezed his hand again. “I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.” 

He raised one eyebrow at her sly and pretty face. “How do you plan to do that?” he murmured. 

She grinned slowly at him. “We’re going to a chateau. A big, fancy chateau with lots of rooms.” She rose onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his ear. “Use your imagination,” she breathed.

He smirked, his ears going warm as she released him and pranced away. 

And then they came across a large and steaming pile of shit. 

Fenris balked, and Anders grimaced. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “It smells worse than Darktown.”

“Oh come on, you wimps,” Hawke said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” To Fenris’s complete shock, she knelt and shoved her gloved hands into the pile of shit. 

He gaped at her for a moment, then barked out a sudden laugh. “Aw. Hawke stepped in the poopy,” he taunted. 

She shot him an annoyed look. “I’m searching for clues. Do you want to move on with this so-called ‘fool’s errand’ or not?” She squelched her fingers around in the pile of feces, her face twisting with distaste despite her bold words. 

His boredom entirely forgotten in the face of this enormously entertaining development, Fenris folded his arms and watched until Hawke pulled something from the pile.

Tallis traipsed over and inspected the contents of Hawke’s hand. “Ah, nug bones! I wonder if a nug call would help.”

Hawke threw her an odd look. “You know a nug call?”

Tallis planted her hand on her hip and tilted her head. “You go elbow-deep in nug shit, and _I’m_ the weird one?” She smiled, then made a _very_ strange noise. 

And then she went galloping off into a nearby clearing while making that very strange noise. 

Fenris, Anders, and Hawke all simply stared as their new companion waved her arms and kicked her gangly legs. “This is by far the stupidest thing I have ever seen,” Anders said in wonder. 

“I know,” Hawke said. She grinned at the two men. “Isn’t it great?”

At that moment, a huge, scaly beast came surging out of the woods, and Fenris hauled his greatsword from his back. “The wyvern, I presume?” he yelled over the beast’s ear-splitting roar. 

Hawke didn’t bother to reply. Her face was a perfect picture of focus as she cast a barrier over him, then jerked her chin at the beast. “Go ahead!” she called. 

Fenris needed no further prompting. He ran full-tilt at the wyvern, then had to hastily roll aside as the creature charged at him. “ _Kaffas_ ,” he muttered, then ran at the beast’s rear and swung at the back of its leg, intending to hamstring it. 

The fight wasn’t long, but it was tough. Fenris succeeded in crippling the wyvern within a minute, and Hawke swiftly discovered that it was particularly susceptible to lightning attacks, so she and Anders rained bolts down on the beast while Fenris and Tallis slashed at the beast. 

Soon the wyvern was wheezing, laboured breaths through its dragonlike snout as its head hung low in exhaustion, and Fenris darted toward the head, intending to sever its neck. 

It turned its head and sprayed a jet of poison at his chest. 

He stumbled back in disgust, and Hawke screamed his name. “ _Fenris!_ ”

He shook his head to try and reassure her; the poison was only on his armour, not on his skin, and he could hold his breath until the worst of the vapours dissipated. He lifted his sword again, ready to swing at their bestial foe.

The wyvern’s head was suddenly encased in a creeping coating of ice. White-blue ice grew over its eyes, into its nostrils, stifling its snuffling breaths -

“Kill it,” Hawke shouted, and Fenris slammed the pommel of his greatsword against the wyvern’s head. 

The head shattered with a great _crack_ , falling apart in reddish chunks of flesh and ice, and then Hawke was at his side. “Fenris,” she breathed, her eyes wild with panic as they darted across his body. “Oh fuck. Here, take this antidote, drink the whole thing, we can make more or buy more or bully the next person we see-”

“Hawke,” he interrupted. He grasped her shaking hand. “I’m fine. The poison is only on my armour. It’s all right.”

Her gaze flicked over him for a moment longer, then her shoulders relaxed. “Maker’s sagging balls,” she sighed, then kissed him quickly on the lips. “Fuck this hunting-for-sport bullshit. Remind me of this next time someone suggests this kind of sortie.”

“Consider it done,” he said, and she smiled tremulously at him as she took a step away. 

A moment later, a strange man burst into the clearing with a handful of Orlesian guards and a mouthful of complaints about having bribed someone-or-other to win the hunting contest. _Blasted humans_ , Fenris thought in annoyance as Duke Prosper himself appeared to witness the exchange, and Hawke - as was her way - mercifully allowed the petulant Orlesian complainer to walk away unscathed. 

They stopped by a small lake to wash up before continuing back to Chateau Haine. Fenris gave Hawke a fond but chiding look as she chivvied him into a sitting position. “I can clean my armour myself,” he told her for the third time. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Hawke said. “My gloves are already as good as garbage. Might as well add some wyvern venom to the wyvern shit before, you know, burning them. It’ll be like a beautiful piece of performance art.” She pulled a cloth from her back pocket, then soaked it in the lake and squeezed it out before adding a dab of wyvern venom antidote. “Besides, you know I’ll take any excuse to get my hands all over you.” She smiled at him and gingerly wiped his chestplate.

Fenris studied her brittle smile. “Unfortunate, then, that your hands are covered in shit,” he murmured. He tenderly brushed her spiky bangs from her eyes. 

Her tight smile warmed and broadened. Then Tallis came and crouched beside them. “Things are going perfectly to plan,” she chirped. “Thanks, Hawke.” She looked at Fenris and Anders. “And you two as well. Really. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” Hawke said breezily. She carefully rinsed out the cloth, then wiped Fenris’s chestplate again. “Nothing like a brisk hunt and a brisk verbal ass-kicking to a puffed-up noble to start the day.” She winked at Tallis. 

Tallis beamed at her, then rose and wandered away, and Hawke’s smile finally slipped a bit as she turned back to Fenris. “And here I was, thinking this would be a nice little vacation,” she muttered. “What’s the world coming to when even my fun distractions become fraught with danger?”

“Everything you do has always been fraught with danger,” Anders pointed out as he polished his staff. “You love danger. It’s practically your middle name.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s not the point,” she said. 

Anders frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked at him for a moment, then returned her attention to Fenris’s nearly-clean chestplate. “All I’m saying is that there had better be some stellar food at this party,” she said. “ _And_ drinks. Anyone else for drinks?” She raised her eyebrows at Fenris, then pointed at Anders. “You. You’re having a drink with me. You never drink anymore. I still don’t understand why Venjustice going a little crazy means you’ve become a teetotaller.” 

“Hawke,” Fenris said. He gently squeezed her arm. “We can go back to Kirkwall at any time. Nothing is stopping you from saying ‘no’. We don’t have to do this.” Anders didn’t understand her, but Fenris saw past her mask. 

She put on a good face, and she’d always been extremely effective at deflecting their group’s concerns. She was still as impulsive as ever, wont to jumping headfirst into things without thinking twice. But when unplanned dangers cropped up, especially dangers to anyone who wasn’t herself… 

The events of the past few years had taken their toll. Despite her signature jocular manner, Hawke wasn’t the same carefree woman they’d all met so many years ago. 

She darted a furtive look at Tallis, and Fenris sighed quietly as she shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said airily. “The worst part is done. The rest is going to be sneaking and stealing, and we’re good at that.”

“Are we, though?” Anders said. “Especially the ‘sneaking’ bit.”

She gasped in pretend offense. “You wound me, Anders. I can be quiet as a cat when I want to be.” She inspected Fenris’s chestplate, then nodded her head in satisfaction before removing her disgusting gloves and lifting her eyes to his. 

Fenris sympathetically studied her face. It was worried and hopeful and lovely. “It can’t get any worse, can it?” she said.

***************

Evidently it could.

Fenris clenched his jaw as Anders tried, for the fourth unsuccessful time, to pick the lock on a window. “What can these Orlesian snobs possibly own that’s so valuable that they need to magic-proof their locks?” he hissed. 

Fenris glanced around the corner - _all clear_ \- then folded his arms and glared at Anders again. “I thought you said Isabela taught you how to do this,” he muttered. The sooner they got into the keep, the sooner he would be reunited with Hawke, and the sooner he could go back to ignoring Anders. 

Anders scowled down at him, then gave up on the locked window. “I don’t see _you_ trying to help,” he said. “You know, for someone who acts so devoted to Hawke, you’re being incredibly obstructive right now.” 

“I am not,” Fenris snapped. “I simply trust her abilities more than yours. She and Tallis will likely find a way in before we do. Then we can follow them inside.” He peeked around the corner into the main courtyard and watched as Hawke and Tallis approached another guard near another door.

“We can’t just stand here doing nothing until then,” Anders argued. “Look, I’m going to find another window to try. You can stay here and keep mooning at her if you want. Like that’s ever done any of us any good,” he added resentfully, then slid away along the shadowed side of the castle wall. 

Fenris shot a venomous look at his back, then watched as Tallis tilted her head coyly and followed the guard into a small room. Hawke casually leaned against the closed door, smiling and deflecting attention from the door. A few minutes later, Tallis came out, and Fenris could see the disgruntlement in her face. 

_Venhedis,_ he thought. Despite his confidence in Hawke’s silver tongue, it seemed that she and Tallis were having more difficulty than anticipated. 

With a heavy sigh, he made his way along the side of the building until he found Anders trying futilely to open another window. “I have a plan,” he muttered. 

Anders shot him a suspicious look, and Fenris pursed his lips before speaking. “I will pretend to be a servant,” he said. Then he swallowed hard before sharing the worst bit of his plan. “I’ll pretend to be your… bodyguard,” he gritted. “You look self-important enough to have servants at your whim.” He eyed Anders’ stark black and silver-trimmed coat with distaste. “Pretend that you need to use the restroom. They’ll let me follow you without question. I am just an elf, after all,” he said resentfully. 

Anders’ skeptical expression cleared. “That’s… quite good, actually,” he admitted. He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “You sure you can pretend to be humble for long enough for this to work?”

Fenris curled his lip. “Hawke needs to get in the Keep. That is the only reason I am doing this,” he growled. “Now come on.” He jerked his chin at the courtyard, then folded his arms defensively. 

Anders snorted softly, then pushed past Fenris to lead the way back to the courtyard. They made their way carefully through the gossiping guests, and Fenris surreptitiously indicated one of the weaker-looking guards - a young man who was clutching his spear with white knuckles, and who looked like he’d be rather easy to intimidate. 

They approached the guard, and Anders lifted his chin haughtily. “Lead me to the nearest restroom, will you?” he said lazily. “This piss-poor wine is going straight through me.” He glanced dismissively at the glass he’d lifted from a passing tray.

 _Playing the part perfectly,_ Fenris thought acidly. Of course it was easy for Anders to behave like a pompous, power-laden prat. It was only a step away from what he really was. 

The guard’s throat bobbed nervously as he swallowed. “I - I’m sorry, messere, but no one can enter the keep,” he said. He pointed to an ornate-looking cottage about fifty paces away. “There are restrooms for the guests just over -”

Anders laughed nastily. “If you think I’m setting foot in that stinking outhouse, then you’re sorely mistaken. Now show me the nearest civilized restroom, and while you’re at it, get someone to clean up the vomit in the outhouse. Unless you want this crowd of louts to piss in the fountain instead.” He shot a dismissive glance over his shoulder. 

The guard’s eyes widened. “Someone vomited in the outhou- I mean the restrooms?”

“Yes,” Anders snapped. “Now are you letting me in, or am I going to be the first to grace Your Lordship’s fountain with a shower of gold?”

“No - I mean yes - I mean - sorry messere, yes messere…” The babbling guard unlocked the door and pushed it open, then hurried off toward the glorified outhouse. 

Anders and Fenris watched him scurry away. “Damn,” Anders whispered. “That was… really good.” 

Fenris was also rather stunned at how well it had gone, despite the fact that it was his plan. “Yes,” he said. “You acted perfectly like a self-important know-it-all. I can’t imagine how.” He glanced around the courtyard swiftly, looking for Hawke. Was she still in the courtyard with Tallis? If she was, they could all go inside together instead of being separated. 

No such luck, however; Hawke was nowhere to be seen. Fenris wilted slightly with disappointment, even though he knew he should be pleased that she’d apparently succeeded at making it inside on her own. He just did _not_ like the idea of her going unguarded through this strange place. She was already nervous enough as it was…

“Come _on_ , you idiot,” Anders hissed. “We’ll catch up to them inside.”

Fenris scowled as he ducked into the open door with Anders. They closed the door behind them, leaving them in darkness at the threshold of a corridor that led in two directions.

“Where to next?” Anders said. 

Fenris jerked his chin to the left. “Tallis said the blasted jewel is in the central vault. This way seems to lead to the center of the keep.” Without waiting for Anders’ reply, he began to stride silently down the hall. 

Anders quickly caught up to him. “You can lead the way for now. But only because you have better eyesight,” he whispered. 

Fenris raised one sardonic brow. “ _My_ plan got us inside. That’s why I’m leading the way. Now stop talking, unless you want us to be caught.”

Anders scowled but complied. They soon came to another branch in the corridor, and Fenris glanced around the corner before relaxing. Two unconscious guards had been pushed carefully into a dark corner, and there were patterns of characteristically chaotic burn marks on their clothes.

“She came this way,” he said to Anders. 

Anders huffed in surprise. “Tidy work. Tallis’s influence, I presume.” He shot Fenris a little smirk. 

Fenris couldn’t help but smirk back. Hawke wasn’t known for her subtlety. “Quite so,” he said. 

They continued to make their way through the corridors, following Hawke and Tallis’s trail via the smattering of unconscious Orlesian guards who littered the halls. The occasional guard stirred and groaned, and Fenris swiftly knocked them out again with sharp cracks to their skulls. 

They were making their way through a large and grand-looking library when Anders suddenly spoke. “What’s wrong with you?”

Fenris looked at him in annoyance. “What are you talking about?”

Anders jerked his chin at Fenris’s arms. “You’re… vibrating,” he said. “You might want to, you know, turn that off. We can’t really hide in the shadows if you’re glowing.” 

Fenris looked down at his arms; his lyrium marks were glowing faintly. 

He took a deep breath, then forced himself to relax until the marks faded back to an inert white. He hadn’t quite realized how tense he was. “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.” He made his way through the library, then down a flight of stairs. 

The floor they were on now was less ornate than the ones above, and Fenris took this as a good sign; less ornate meant they were getting closer to the areas that guests were not supposed to see, which included the dungeon vault where the Heart of the Many was supposedly kept. “Come on,” he whispered to Anders, then hurried down the hall. 

“Hey, slow down,” Anders complained. “We need to-” 

A pair of chevaliers suddenly jumped out from the darkest corners. “Got you! Damned thieves,” one of them snarled, then lunged at Anders. 

“Maker’s balls,” Anders gasped. He deflected the guard with a swift fireball, and Fenris’s tattoos flared to life as he plunged his fist through the second guard’s chest. Moments later, the two guards were dead on the floor: one bleeding, the other singed beyond recognition. 

Anders straightened and glared at Fenris. “What in the Void is going on with you?” he demanded. “You’re being careless. We need to be sneaky like Hawke and Tallis were!” 

Fenris glowered back at him. “Didn’t you hear what that guard said? ‘Thieves’, he called us. Why ‘thieves’, and not just ‘intruders’?” He stared down the hall with growing anxiety. “They know,” he muttered. “They know Hawke and Tallis came to steal something. That means they’ve been caught.” He began to run silently down the hall with his sword in hand. 

Within a second, Anders was running beside him. “Fenris, stop,” he snapped. “You’re going to get us caught too, and then we won’t be able to break them out!”

“And how would _you_ plan on doing that?” Fenris yelled. “You can’t open a blasted window. How do you plan to break open a dungeon?”

“Not by _yelling_ , that’s for certain,” Anders hissed. “Lower your damned voice.” 

Fenris took a deep breath, then a second and a third until his skin was no longer flaring a malevolent blue. Anders was right, and it was absolutely galling. 

They continued down the hall at a torturously slow pace. “If they have laid a single finger on her, I will kill them all,” Fenris snarled. “If there is so much as a bruise…” 

Anders wrinkled his nose. “Why are you being so overprotective?” he demanded. “You know Hawke can look after herself. _You’re_ the one who pushed her into that duel with the Arishok three years ago, and now suddenly you’re all, ‘if anyone touches her’...”

“This is different,” Fenris snapped. “It’s… she’s…” He trailed off, uncertain how to continue. Again, Anders was right; Hawke could look after herself. She was as strong a fighter as Fenris was, in her own magical way. But the thought of her being locked up here in this strange place with all these strange people, with only one unknown and potentially unreliable companion to help her… 

She’d been worried about this assinine mission. Fenris had seen it in her eyes when she’d squeezed his hand before sending him off with Anders while she went with Tallis. He knew she’d been worried, and he’d let her go off without him anyway. If something happened to her when he wasn’t there… 

He speared Anders with a scathing look. It wasn’t his business to know how Hawke really felt. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, then continued down the hall. 

Anders strode along beside him. “What makes you think you’re the only one who understands Hawke? We’ve all known her for just as long as you,” he said. “ _I’ve_ known her for longer than you. You act like you’re the only one who cares about her, but I’ll have you know-” 

Fenris stopped and spun toward him. “You’ll have me know _what?_ ” he barked. “That you’re in love with Hawke? Because that is no secret. You are jealous, and you always have been!”

“She deserves better than you!” Anders blurted. His face was turning red with anger. “You strung her along for years and years, and - and you’re a miserable asshole, for Maker’s bloody sake, and you don’t even have the same opinions on mages, and -”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Fenris snarled. “So what, then? You think you are better for her than I? Is that it?”

“No,” Anders yelled, and Fenris drew back in surprise. “She’s better off without me, too. But at least I can admit it.”

Fenris gaped at him, surprised into silence by Anders’s admission. They stared at each other for a long, tense moment.

And then a thundering of footsteps reached Fenris’s ears. 

“ _Fasta vass,_ ” he swore. He shot a glare at Anders. “This is your fault.”

“It is not,” Anders yelled. A moment later, a veritable crowd of chevaliers fell upon them. 

It was a messy fight. Fenris was enraged already from the argument, and with every severed artery and wet snap of bone, his battle rage seemed to grow until all he could see was blood. 

He roared into the terrified face of a bearded chevalier, then ripped out the man’s throat and dropped him on the floor. He looked up to see Anders bent double and heaving for breath, a pile of half-frozen and eviscerated bodies at his feet. 

Anders raised his haggard face to look at Fenris. And an Orlesian assassin stepped out of the shadows behind the exhausted mage. 

Fenris didn’t hesitate. He phased over to Anders’s side and grabbed the assassin by the throat. 

Anders gasped and stumbled away. “What the-”

Fenris snapped the assassin’s neck, then dropped her on the ground. “She almost got you,” he said to Anders. “We need to move. Now.” He continued to the end of the hall and ran down another flight of stairs. 

Anders caught up to him quickly, and they ran in silence down another flight of stairs until they found themselves in a cold stone corridor. Fenris stopped and looked around. “Good,” he panted. “This is good. We must be close. Let’s-”

“Why did you save me?” Anders asked. 

“What?” Fenris said distractedly. He glanced past Anders to the left-hand passageway. It was as good a bet as any.

He took a step toward the left-hand corridor, but Anders held up a hand. “You could have let the assassin get me,” Anders said. “Told Hawke you couldn’t save me. It would have solved all your problems. Why’d you help me?”

Fenris shot him an impatient look. “What have I ever done to make you think I would be so deceitful?” he demanded. “Besides, Hawke is inexplicably attached to you. Far beyond my better judgment though it might be, you are under my protection.” He shoved past Anders and stalked down the stone corridor. 

Anders caught up to him, and they walked in tense silence for a moment. Then Anders shot him a sideways glance. “You really would do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

“Do not test me, mage,” Fenris snarled.

Anders held his hands up in surrender. “That’s not my intent,” he said. “I’m just… it’s… she’s been good for you. You’re not… I’ve been waiting for you to let her down again.” 

Fenris whirled toward him, his lip curled in a snarl, but Anders rolled his eyes. “Oh, calm down, will you?” he snapped. “I’m trying to compliment you. I… what I said before... That was uncalled for. I’m glad she has you to look after her. You’ll protect her and keep her safe.”

Fenris frowned at him for a long moment. Anders’s gaze was steady and calm, and surprisingly humble. To Fenris’s consternation, the longer he looked at Anders’ somber face, the more he realized that Anders didn’t just look calm; he looked… sad. Resigned.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning back in Kirkwall? In the Chantry?” he said quietly.

Anders released a quiet breath and dropped his eyes. “She told you about that, did she?”

“I know you’ve set a trap of some kind,” Fenris replied. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but I know that much.” He took a small step closer to Anders. “Know this,” he said. “If you hurt her - if any harm comes to her because of you… I _will_ kill you.”

Anders unflinchingly returned his gaze. He looked sadder than ever. “Good,” he said softly. He took a step away from Fenris, then nodded his head down the passageway. “This way, you think?”

Fenris studied him for a moment, then nodded. They continued their search in a relatively peaceful silence. 

Unfortunately, the search wasn’t successful. Every corridor that Fenris suggested was a bust, and his temper began to unravel in time with Anders’ increasingly impatient commentary.

Upon hitting another dead end, Anders wilted in exasperation. “That’s it. I’m taking the lead,” he said. 

Fenris scoffed and speared him with a glare. “You think I’m going to trust _you_ to find Hawke?”

Anders threw his hands up in frustration. “Could you stop with the ‘all mages are evil’ diatribe for one minute?” he complained, then shoved past Fenris and back up the corridor. 

Fenris loped along in his wake. “They may not all be evil, but one of them in particular is extremely annoying,” he said pointedly.

Then he heard a familiar voice. “Fenris?” 

He straightened. His heart leapt into his throat. “Hawke?” he called. 

“We’re over here!” she replied, and Fenris bolted past Anders to follow the echoing sound of her voice. 

She was in an open cell at the end of yet another blasted stone corridor, and relief pumped through his veins as he ran to her side and took her outstretched hands in his. “There you are,” he said. He squeezed her hands, then cupped her face. “Are you hurt? What happened?” he demanded. 

She shook her head and beamed at him, and Fenris finally breathed easily as she swayed toward him and curled her fingers against his abdomen. “I’m fine, I promise. Not even a scratch,” she said. 

“Thank the bloody Maker,” Anders panted as he caught up to them. “Let’s go anywhere but here. You lead the way,” he said to Hawke, with a pointed glare at Fenris. 

Fenris sneered at him, and Hawke gave a sunny laugh. “Ah, I see the two of you bonded in my absence! My secret plan worked out, then.” 

Fenris shook his head. Relief and residual anxiety were thrumming through his limbs and making him feel unsteady. He wanted to kiss her - _kaffas_ , he wanted to kiss her so badly, but Anders and Tallis were watching, and if he kissed her now he might never stop… 

With enormous difficulty, he forced himself to release her. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “What is the plan?” 

“First things first,” Hawke said. She jerked her head at Tallis. “Guess who’s been horny all this time?” 

Tallis wilted and shot her a chiding look, and Anders raised one eyebrow. “I know we took a while to get here, Hawke, but the two of you couldn’t find some other way to occupy your time?” he teased. 

Hawke laughed. “Oh Anders, you naughty boy,” she purred. “What I mean is that a certain someone is actually Qunari.” 

Fenris stared at Tallis, then frowned with fresh dislike. “You led us here under false pretenses,” he accused. 

Hawke rested a hand on her hip and tilted her weight jauntily to one side. “Well, she couldn’t very well tell the truth. I did kick most of her friends out of Kirkwall, after all.” 

Tallis winced. “Maybe we can talk about this _after_ we make our escape? There’s an entrance to a cave near here.” 

Fenris eyed her mistrustfully, but he followed her and Hawke nonetheless. As they hurried through the dungeons, small groups of chevaliers and archers tried to head them off, but their group was as efficient as usual, dispatching each guard with deadly efficiency. 

Finally they reached a tall crack in the wall - a crack that was wide enough to accommodate a rather skinny person if they shuffled in sideways. 

“See?” Tallis said proudly. “Caves. Just like I said.”

Hawke eyed the crack curiously. “Good thing Isabela didn’t come,” she remarked. “I don’t think her marvelous breasts would fit in this tiny hole.” 

Anders snorted, but Fenris folded his arms and gave Tallis a flat look. “Are you sure this goes somewhere other than down?”

“Yes,” she said defensively. Then she dropped her gaze. “Sort of. I stole old plans from the Fourth Blight. This was a retreat. At any rate, there’s an exit that leads onto the mountainside.” 

“Hm,” Fenris said noncommittally. He turned to Hawke. “What do you think?”

She shrugged and smiled. “In for a copper, in for a royal, I always say. Ladies first?” She took a step toward the crack in the wall.

Fenris firmly took her hand. “Yes, ladies first. Let _her_ go.” He jerked his chin at Tallis. If there was anything that was going to jump out at them in this so-called cave, he didn’t want Hawke going in face-first without her staff in hand. 

Hawke frowned at him, but Tallis nodded agreement. “I suppose that’s only fair,” she said. And she slipped into the crack. 

They waited for a few moments, then Tallis’s voice echoed back to them. “Clear!” she called. 

Fenris released Hawke’s hand, and she winked at him before slipping into the crack. He followed her, with Anders close behind. 

They made their way through the caves, and as they fought their way through more damned ghasts, Hawke filled him and Anders in on the broad strokes of Tallis’s reason for bringing them to this blasted place.

Finally Fenris spotted a haze of daylight at the end of the cave. “There,” he said. “An exit.” 

They ran toward the exit, which forked in two directions: one darker cave that curved off to the right, and a well-lit, more promising looking one that branched to the left. Tallis slowed down and smiled at Hawke as they neared the fork. “See?” she said brightly. “I told you I had a plan. It was a good plan, the kind that had an escape and everything.” She pointed to the brightly lit path. “You could leave; that is an option.” 

Fenris folded his arms obstinately. “I sense a ‘but’.” 

“Me too,” Hawke purred, and she pinched his bum.

He shot her a chiding look, and she pecked him on the cheek before turning to the elven rogue. “All right, Tallis. What do you want now?”

Tallis tilted her head and gave Hawke a winning smile. “You’ve been so reasonable since we were captured. I’m hoping that hasn’t changed.” 

Hawke pursed her lips, and Tallis sobered. “What Salit is going to do will harm so many innocents - my people as well as yours,” she said. “It’s my duty to stop him. Even so, I can’t do it alone. Not anymore.”

Anders folded his arms. “Oh, here we go,” he said, and Fenris was inclined to agree. 

Hawke frowned thoughtfully. “Explain what’s so terrible about Salit’s plan.”

“I… can’t,” Tallis said. “Not completely. And yes, I know, that’s a hard sell,” she said, as Fenris glared at her. “The information Salit plans to hand over to Orlais won’t just hurt Qunari, however. It will harm anyone living in Qunari lands. Even those who fled the Qun will be condemned to persecution forever.”

Hawke sighed and shifted her weight to one hip. “This couldn’t just be a way to convince me to help you again, I suppose?”

“If only it was. I’m not here on some directive from the Qun.” She paced slowly back and forth as she continued. “Salit was declared Tal-Vashoth, but they didn’t deem intervention worthwhile. I… couldn’t agree. I had to try.” 

Hawke frowned. “Doesn’t that make you Tal-Vashoth as well?”

“Yes,” Fenris said flatly. He gave Tallis a challenging stare. 

She frowned at him. “No,” she countered. “The Ben-Hassrath didn’t tell me _not_ to do this. But here I am anyway. I was trying to earn my way back into their good graces.” 

“‘Earn your way back’?” Hawke said. “Why? What did you do?”

The redheaded elf shrugged sadly. “It’s not easy being an elf in the Qun. You’re not born into it like they are. I’ve struggled to find that peace, that… certainty. I know it’s there, I just… keep falling short.”

“That’s usually a sign that you should give up,” Fenris taunted. He didn’t really care what she did; follow the Qun or not, it was of no consequence to him. But she’d put Hawke in harm’s way, and petty though it was, he couldn’t help but antagonize her.

Tallis frowned at him more deeply, and Hawke sighed. “So what do you want us to do, exactly?” she said. “I’m not converting, if that’s what you’re after. I’m far too much of a hedonist. No gods would have the stomach for the likes of me.” She winked salaciously at Fenris. 

Tallis gazed hopefully at her. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”

Fenris shook his head. “Hawke…” 

Anders stepped forward. “Seriously, Hawke, you want to help the Qunari?” he said. “You’ve seen how they treat their mages. Remember that saarebas?” 

Hawke sighed and rubbed her face, then looked at Tallis for a long moment. Fenris also looked at Tallis, then scowled at her expression. 

He knew that expression. It was one that Merrill used on a daily basis. _Puppy eyes,_ he thought, with a jolt of dread.

Sure enough, Hawke tilted her head back and groaned. “All right, all right, twist my arm, why don’t you. Lead the way.”

Tallis beamed at her and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Hawke. I… thank you.” 

Fenris sighed loudly as they followed the rogue out into the evening air. “So now we’re helping the Qunari?” he complained. 

“I told you,” Tallis said firmly. “There are many innocent lives at stake as well.”

“And how many innocents have the Qunari slaughtered?” he countered. But Tallis’s pert little face was obstinate, so he turned away in disgust. 

He fell back to walk beside Hawke, and she twined her fingers with his. “I know, I know,” she whispered. “Anders is right, I’m a sucker for cute elves. I’m sure this won’t take long, though. Next thing you know we’ll be having hot cocoa by a nice fire on our way back home.” 

He could see the uncertainty in her smile. So much uncertainty, so much danger, and for what?

He pulled her to a stop. “You frightened me,” he said. 

Her face slackened with surprise. “Me?” 

Fenris swallowed hard. “Before we found you, there was a moment when I…” He trailed off as her forehead creased with fresh anxiety. 

He sighed. He didn’t want to add to her worries, not before they stepped back into what would surely be another dangerous debacle. “Just… don’t do that again,” he said softly. 

She smiled impishly, but her eyebrows remained tilted with concern. “Do what? I’m just living my best life,” she quipped. 

He sighed wearily. “This is your decision, but I think we should leave.” 

She sobered, then cupped his neck briefly in her palm. “Heard and acknowledged,” she said. “Let’s just… get this over with, shall we?”

He nodded in resignation, and they caught up to Anders and Tallis. Anders looked at him over his shoulder. “Hey Fenris, maybe _you_ should join the Qun.”

“We could go together,” Fenris suggested cheerfully. “I’d be happy to sew your mouth shut.” 

Hawke burst into laughter, and Anders actually smirked as well, though Fenris suspected it was more at her mirth than at his cleverness. 

“ _Vashedan_ ,” Tallis hissed, and Fenris looked up in alarm as she whipped her daggers from her back. “Up ahead,” she said. 

Sure enough, a party of tall horned warriors were heading toward them. Fenris pulled his greatsword from his back. “Friends of yours?” he drawled. 

She shot him a quick glare. “The opposite, in fact,” she said. And then they all had to save their breath as the fight began in earnest. 

With difficulty, they fought their way along the path back to Chateau Haine. Fenris took a bolt to the shoulder, and Hawke briefly stumbled from an arrow to the thigh, but Anders healed them both in short order. By the time they made their way to the ruins at the base of the mountain where the dying Tal-Vashoth leader had told them to go, Hawke was looking almost as ill-tempered as Fenris felt. 

Tallis peered at the platform where the Tal-Vashoth and the Duke were meeting. “There,” she said. “I see the scroll!” She turned excitedly back to Hawke and the others. “I’ll sneak around, take out as many of Duke Prosper’s guards as I can. When I’ve got that scroll, that’s when you come in. We’ll take them all out.”

“Simple as that, hmm?” Hawke said. 

Tallis gave her an apologetic look. “Thank you again, Hawke,” she said softly, then she darted away. 

Hawke sighed, then rolled her shoulders like a boxer about to fight. “All right, my handsome friends,” she said. “Ready to go?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Anders said ruefully. 

Fenris took her arm. “Be cautious,” he said seriously. 

She nodded, then leaned in and swiftly kissed him. “You too,” she said. “Don’t do anything I would do.” 

He smiled faintly at her, and they turned back to watch the proceedings. As soon as Tallis had the scroll, Hawke led Anders and Fenris onto the platform. And sure enough, as was always the case with anything that Hawke got involved in, everything went to chaos in about five seconds flat. 

Duke Prosper shot Salit with some kind of odd weapon, and the Duke’s pet wyvern tore Salit in two. And then they were mired in yet another mad battle. 

Throughout the fight, Fenris remained as close to Hawke as he could, slamming back any foes who came within a meter of her and ushering her away from the explosive globs of goo that the Duke’s odd weapon was expectorating. 

“What are you doing?” Hawke yelled. 

“What do you mean?” Fenris demanded. He swung his greatsword in a broad arc, cleaving through three soldiers’ bellies in the process. 

“Why are you staying next to me?” she asked. 

He wiped his sweaty forehead and frowned briefly at her before scanning the field again. The Duke’s beast was roaring and trying to lick the stump of its left foreleg on the other side of the field, but it was otherwise quiet for the moment. “It’s - you’re - it’s not safe,” he panted. “I’m keeping you safe.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger!” she retorted. “Your fancy lyrium camouflage isn’t worth a nug’s left nut when you stick right next to me. You’re being too predictable.” 

He frowned more deeply. She wasn’t wrong; he was behaving differently than he usually did, but the thought of leaving her side… He did _not_ like it. “Hawke-” 

“Go,” she said firmly. She squeezed his blood-spattered arm and jerked her chin toward an oncoming wave of Orlesian soldiers. “Go on, tear them apart. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

“I’ll put her under constant barriers,” Anders called over from the left. 

Fenris darted a quick look at him. His expression was surprisingly understanding.

Fenris looked at him for another second, then nodded his head. He shot Hawke a forbidding glance. “Do not do anything stupid,” he growled. 

She grinned. “Me, do something stupid? Perish the thought.” She blew him a kiss, then twirled her staff and flung one fist into the air. 

A storm of lightning arced down from the cloudless sky and rippled across the ground, and Fenris flung himself into the air, his sword swinging overhead and a roar of bloodrage ripping from his throat. 

Enemy after enemy fell under his sword and the chaotic flares of his lyrium scars. Then the wyvern’s wildly flailing tail caught him across the chest. 

He skidded across the battlefield, stunned and dizzied by the impact, and through the ringing of his ears, he faintly heard Hawke’s cry of distress. He looked up to see her running toward him. _Don’t,_ he thought. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop, but he couldn’t catch his breath. 

The Duke released a vindictive laugh, and Fenris looked up to see him lifting his pistol. A surge of rage and fear bloomed in Fenris’s belly, and then he was on his feet, greatsword in hand as he dragged in a laboured breath - 

He hamstringed the Duke’s wyvern, and the beast released an ear-splitting howl, and the Duke haphazardly shot his weapon at Hawke. 

He missed.

The Duke snarled and spurred his maimed pet toward her. The animal stumbled into an ungainly run, and Fenris proudly watched as Hawke flicked her wrist, enfolding the wyvern in a casing of ice. 

Frozen and brittle, the wyvern skidded toward the precipice of the battlefield, then went flying unceremoniously over the edge. Fenris ran over to her side, vaguely aware from his pain-free ribs that someone had healed him with a spell. 

She gave him a swift smile before looking over the edge of the precipice, and Fenris looked as well. 

Duke Prosper was hanging from the ledge by one hand. “The empress will hear of this!” he squawked. “Orlais will burn Kirkwall to the ground! All of you will die screaming, I swear it!” 

Hawke twisted her lips ruefully. “Really? _Those_ are your last words? I would have tried begging for mercy. Not that it would get you far.” She casually turned away and took Fenris’s hand. 

“You filthy whore!” the Duke screamed. 

Fenris stopped. He released Hawke’s fingers, then turned around and stomped vindictively on the Duke’s hand.

The Duke fell from the edge with a scream, and Fenris turned away and slid his hand up Hawke’s back. “They never learn,” he said. 

She batted her eyelashes at him. “You kicked him off the edge to defend my honour? How very chivalrous,” she simpered. Then she glanced at the precipice again, and Fenris watched with amusement as her familiar shit-eating grin crept over her face. 

_Here it comes,_ he thought. 

Sure enough, the shoved her hands in her pockets and grinned at him and Anders. “Looks like the Duke has fallen from grace,” she announced, then burst into laughter.

Fenris pinched her waist. “You are an idiot,” he told her affectionately. 

“Only for you, Fenris. Only for you,” she replied, and Fenris grinned at her smiling face. Then the three of them walked over to join Tallis, who was crouched over Salit’s bisected body. 

The elven rogue rose to her feet and smiled softly at Hawke. “Thank you,” she said. “There’s no way I could have done this without your help.” 

Hawke gestured at the scroll in her hand. “We’re dying to know. What is it? A recipe for the world’s finest chocolate cake?” She elbowed Anders. “Death by chocolate - what a way to go.” 

“That’s less crude than I expected from you,” Anders retorted. “You’re losing your touch.”

Tallis tucked the scroll into her pouch belt. “It’s a list of Qunari agents throughout Thedas,” she said. “Many of them have children, family, friends. They’re people you wouldn’t suspect. Some have even left the Qun behind, but if this list fell into human hands, they and everyone they know would be killed.” She sighed and tugged her russett ponytail. “The Ariqun believes they knew the risks, but… what about the innocents? I couldn’t let this happen.”

“Maybe you are not suited for the Qun,” Fenris said. 

She looked up at him with a frown. “Look, I know you don’t like the Qun, but -”

“I respect the ideology,” he interrupted. “But the execution leaves much to be desired. That is clearly your issue as well.” 

She pursed her lips and was quiet for a moment, then lifted her eyes back to his face. “So what? You think I should leave my ideals behind?” she retorted. “Leave the Qun behind like it didn’t matter?”

Fenris shrugged. “You have a choice, is all. You are only fooling yourself if you think otherwise.”

She didn’t reply. Hawke slid her arm around Fenris’s waist and gave him an adoring smile, then tilted her head at Tallis. “So what now?” she said. “You’re not just going to leave, are you?”

Tallis nibbled the inside of her cheek, then smiled at them in a way that rather reminded Fenris of Hawke. “You think I would fit into your merry entourage?” she said in amusement.

Fenris huffed. “We’re hardly merry,” he deadpanned. 

“Oh, but just think of the conversations,” Anders piped in. He mockingly stroked his stubbled chin. “What brand of zealotry shall we discuss today? I don’t know, there are so many options.”

“And so the pot calls the kettle black,” Fenris drawled. 

Tallis frowned at Anders. “You’re not a very nice person, are you?”

Anders shrugged carelessly. “You asked if you’d fit in. Just giving you a taste of the fun.”

Hawke slung her arm around Anders’s neck. “Come on, Tallis, join us. We really are fun, I promise! We’ve got a pirate, and a Captain of the City Guard, and a reformed-womanizer-turned-Chantry-brother, and a dwarf with magnificent chest hair…”

Tallis chuckled. “A tempting offer, but maybe some other time.” She smiled ruefully at Fenris. “I can honestly say I’m a little jealous of you right now.”

Fenris scowled and moved slightly in front of Hawke. “Just keep your distance,” he growled. 

Hawke chuckled and squeezed his waist, and Tallis sighed mock-wistfully. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh,” she said, “before I forget.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box, then tossed it to Hawke. 

Hawke opened it, and they all peered inside to find a sparkling red gemstone. It was almost the size of Hawke’s pinkie nail, and it was cleverly cut into the shape of a heart. 

“That was going to be the Heart of the Many,” Tallis explained. “You’d find the jewel while I’d go off and find Salit, and I’d be back before anyone was the wiser.” She shrugged and cocked her hand on her hip. “I suppose nothing ever goes like we plan, does it?” 

Hawke grinned at her. “Trust me when I say absolutely never.” 

Tallis grinned back. “Take care, Hawke. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime,” she said. She turned away with a wave, then sprung away in that oddly agile manner of hers. A moment later, she was gone. 

Hawke sighed and closed the gemstone box, then tucked it into her pocket. “Well, that was fun,” she said. 

“Was it?” Anders said. “I was so busy dodging arrows and spears, I didn’t notice.”

Hawke shoved him playfully, and the three of them made their way along the path that would eventually turn into the road back to Kirkwall. 

Hawke sighed happily and looked up at the night sky. “Well, at least we’ll be able to make camp under the stars tonight. That’s nice, right?” 

“Indeed,” Fenris agreed. It was a beautiful setting, after all. 

He glanced resentfully at Anders. It would be romantic, if only he and Hawke were alone. 

Clearly Anders thought the same thing. He groaned as they all stepped over a fallen tree and picked their way past some dead ghasts from earlier that day. “Does this mean you’re going to be disgusting all over each other?” he complained. “I’m setting my tent up at least ten metres away from yours.”

“Better make it twenty,” Hawke said pertly. “I’m feeling extra hungry tonight.”

Anders made a retching sound, and Fenris shot Hawke a forbidding look. “No more,” he warned. “Not another word.”

She cackled raucously and skipped ahead of them. They continued along the path until they came across a lake, and they began to set up camp for the night. 

Fenris arranged a fire circle with some wood, and Anders snapped his fingers and set it alight. Then they settled on either side of Hawke, who was sitting cross-legged and barefoot on a boulder by the water with a makeshift fishing rod in hand. 

The stars twinkled overhead as Anders and Fenris bickered quietly, with Hawke’s soft interjections and lewd comments. They roasted the fish that Hawke caught and ate it with some travel rations, and then Anders retired to his tent, which he’d pitched a safe twenty metres away. 

Finally and blissfully alone, Fenris lay back on the grass and pulled Hawke down beside him. She snuggled up to his side, and he wrapped his arm around her. “Now _this_ is an escape,” he murmured softly. 

She chuckled and tucked her head against his neck. “It sure is,” she said. “Now if only we didn’t have a gooseberry.”

“I heard that,” Anders yelled from his tent. “I’ll have you remember that _you_ asked _me_ to come on this bloody trip.” 

“Stop listening in, you pervert,” Hawke yelled back. “We’re having sex.” 

Anders made a disgusted noise, and Fenris _tsk_ ed and pinched Hawke’s waist. She squeaked and pinched him back, and then they settled back on the grass. 

They lay looking at the stars in a peaceful silence, and Fenris savoured the simple pleasure of her warm body pressed to his. Then Hawke lifted herself onto one elbow to look down at him. “So,” she said quietly. “You were channelling a little Aveline there at the end of that battle. Not really your style.” 

Fenris sighed. “I… am sorry about that,” he said. “It was foolish. I wasn’t... thinking.”

“Well, you were clearly thinking something,” Hawke said. She stroked his forearm. “What’s on your mind?”

He was quiet for a moment, then he ran his fingers through his hair. “I was… I wanted to protect you,” he said lamely. “I know you were worried about… all of this. I simply wanted to take some of that away. But it was foolish to change tactics without telling you.” He sighed. “I am not much of a shield, it seems. I will leave that to Aveline in the future.” He gave Hawke a rueful little smile.

She continued to regard him with concern. “Why did you think you needed to protect me?” she asked. “You… you didn’t think I could protect myself?”

“No,” Fenris said hastily. He sat up on his elbow to look at her. “No,” he repeated firmly. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He trailed off, then tried to explain. “I have every confidence in you. I know you _can_ defeat these foes, I… I know that. I just… I wish you did not have to.”

Hawke finally smiled, a tender little smile that made his heart flutter. She tilted her head and tugged his earlobe gently. “Fenris,” she said softly. “You can’t protect me from everything. You can’t… you can’t stop me from getting hurt sometimes.” She stroked his cheek. “You told me once that I can’t protect you from those memory flashes you get sometimes. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, of course,” he whispered. 

“This is like that,” Hawke murmured. “You can’t fight everything that might cause me pain. And I don’t want you to. That’s just part of life, right? If you don’t get hurt sometimes, you’re probably playing it too safe. Letting other people take the hits is how my mother ended up depending on everyone to do everything for her.” Then she gasped and covered her mouth. “Maker’s balls. Was that a really bitchy thing to say?” 

Fenris smiled slightly at her. “Perhaps,” he said. “But… I understand your point.”

Hawke snorted into her hand, and Fenris gently pulled her fingers away from her mouth. “I will try not to hover in the future,” he said softly. “I promise.” 

She smiled, then leaned in and kissed him. Fenris closed his eyes and sank into her kiss, giving his full attention over to the persuasive press and pull of her lips. 

They lay together on the cool grass, surrounded by the susurrus of the breeze in the trees and the chirping of crickets, and for time uncounted they simply kissed, their limbs linked in a warm and tender tangle. 

Some time later, as they lay on their sides face-to-face with Hawke’s thigh tucked between his own, Fenris nestled his head on his folded arm and smiled slyly at her. “I have to wonder about something Tallis said this morning,” he murmured.

Hawke chuckled quietly. “Tallis said a lot of things this morning. What did you have in mind?”

He studied her carefully. “Do you want to get married?”

She barked out a loud laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth. Even in the dim light of the moon, Fenris could see her cheeks flushing to a deeper shade. “Married!” she scoffed. “Well. Marriage didn’t really do my parents any favours. I mean, not that they were bad together, they were really quite good, I mean, I _think_ they were, who knows what’s really happening on the inside of these things. But… oh, you know, marriage is a political thing for most humans, did you know that?”

Fenris listened with a growing swell of fondness and amusement as she continued to babble. “It’s true,” she said. “Most humans don’t actually marry for love. Hah, can you imagine? No no, it’s all about matching families and getting higher in rank. Sebastian could tell you more about that. Or Bels, for fuck’s sake, she knows all about that bullshit. Maybe it would be better if people _did_ marry for love, I mean - but, well, who knows, right? Marriage is... no, it's a silly institution.” She scoffed again, then fell silent, and Fenris waited quietly. 

A minute later, she spoke again. “Why do you ask?” she whispered. “Do _you_ want to get married?”

Fenris shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said honestly. “You and I are together in every way that matters. Or we will be, once we buy a house. Getting married will not change the fact that I will be forever by your side.”

She grinned and shyly dropped her eyes, and Fenris admired her deepening flush with a nearly painful surge of affection. 

She shuffled closer to him and slid her hand into his. “You’re right,” she murmured. “You’re absolutely right. We don’t need to get married. Andraste’s ass, you’re so smart. How are you so smart?”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “ _Kaffas_ , Hawke. You will make me blush,” he whispered. 

She smiled more broadly and brushed her nose against his, and then they were kissing again. Fenris gently tasted her lips with the tip of his tongue, then lightly teased her tongue with his when she parted her lips in welcome. A long, idyllic minute later, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. 

“Rynne,” Fenris whispered, “will you marry me?”

She stared at him, and then an enormous goofy grin broke over her face, and she burst out laughing. 

She rolled onto her back and covered her face and just laughed and laughed, and Fenris bit his lip to stop himself from laughing as well. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. “Is that a ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” he drawled. “Should I rescind my request?”

“No!” Hawke blurted. “No, of course not. I mean - what I mean is yes!” She hiccuped and wiped her eyes, then clasped his face in her hands and grinned. “Yes, Fenris, _yes,_ of course I’ll marry you. Of _course_ I will.” She hiccuped again, then pulled him down and kissed him firmly. 

Fenris slid his arms beneath her to clutch her tight, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her deeply, her breaths ghosting into his mouth and the salt of her joyful tears against his lips, their arms and legs and bodies twined together so tightly that he could feel her breathing, her chest rising and falling in tandem with his, and this was exactly as it should be. 

Fenris was breathing with Hawke, breathing _for_ Hawke, and this was exactly as it would be for the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In an amusing twist of life-imitates-art-imitates life, I may have to slow down a bit on the fic writing to plan my own marriage HAHAHA. I may have been procrastinating on this ~~for two years now not that anyone is counting lalala~~
> 
> Never fear; this is not the end of the line for Fenris and Rynne. Stay tuned! ^_^
> 
> In the meantime, [Come join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy! Astia valla femundis! xo


	29. Make Me Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a three-word prompt from @veridium-bye on Tumblr: "Where, Tender, Curse". Includes arguing, some hurt/comfort, and NSFW smut.
> 
> This chapter revolves around the Act 3 quest [Best Served Cold](https://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Best_Served_Cold) \- i.e. the one where Hawke investigates the plot to overthrow Meredith, and Grace goes apeshit and kills poor Ser Thrask.

“You didn’t have to accompany me, you know,” Carver muttered. “I’m not injured.” 

Hawke looped her hand through her brother’s elbow as they strolled through the gates of the Gallows. “You said that already,” she said cheerfully. “You said that on the Wounded Coast, and you said it when we got back to Kirkwall and I was making you that sandwich, and you said it on the boat too.” She reached up and playfully rubbed Carver’s hair. “Are you sure you’re not brain-damaged from the blood magic? You’re repeating yourself a lot.” 

“Do not say that so lightly,” Fenris said. “Blood magic can have some unpredictable effects.” Then he bit the inside of his cheek as Hawke shot him a stricken look. 

Carver glared at him over her shoulder. “Thanks a lot, Fenris,” he said waspishly. 

Fenris grunted, feeling slightly guilty as Hawke wrestled her smile back in place and hugged Carver’s arm. “Don’t blame me for wanting to spend some time with my baby brother,” she said. “I should have gathered a picnic for the Wounded Coast before coming to rescue you. You have to admit, it’s a nice view out there. Aside from all the dead bodies and everything.” 

Varric snorted. “Don’t forget the giant spiders. They really add a certain panache to the scene, I think.”

Hawke gave a barking little laugh as they entered the courtyard. The other Templars turned to stare at their party’s entrance, and Carver hunched his shoulders defensively. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “I have to report to the Knight-Captain now. Will you let me go?”

Hawke chuckled, then finally released Carver’s arm. “Fine. I see how I rate. Go give your report to Big Bad Cullen. I bet it’ll go something like this: ‘I fell asleep, and then I woke up when my fantastic heroic sister saved me. The end.’” She stood on her tip-toes and gave Carver a noisy kiss on the cheek. 

He wrinkled his nose, then shrugged awkwardly. “Thanks for the sandwich,” he muttered, then strode away with his shoulders up around his ears. 

Hawke folded her arms and sighed contentedly. “First he becomes a Templar, then he lets a rogue blood mage take him hostage. He makes the family proud, doesn’t he?”

Varric huffed and folded his arms as well. “Count your lucky stars that that’s all he does,” he drawled. 

Hawke twisted her lips ruefully and patted Varric on the shoulder, then sighed. “Well, I suppose we have to go tell Orsino about his little rebels.” She grimaced as they made their way toward the inner courtyard. “Is it too much to hope that he and Meredith will just kiss and make up?” Suddenly she straightened, and a mischievous grin crept across her face.

She turned to Varric. “I have a fantastic idea for a serial. Get this: the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. A tale of the most forbidden love ever told.” 

Varric groaned as they made their way up the steps toward the Gallows’s offices. “Well, that’s an idea I can’t unsee.” 

“What do you mean? It’s a great idea!” Hawke protested. She elbowed Fenris teasingly. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you read me _that_ story in bed.”

Fenris grunted. He was not feeling particularly in the mood for jokes. He was generally displeased by Hawke’s management of this whole situation so far, and he suspected that her conversation with Orsino was only going to irritate him further. 

Varric, meanwhile, cleared his throat loudly. “Thanks, Hawke. That makes _two_ ideas I can’t ever unsee. I’m definitely never writing it now.” 

She tutted in disappointment, and they sidled into Orsino’s office to explain Thrask’s conspiracy and his grim fate at Grace’s hands. Fenris folded his arms and leaned against the wall as he listened to their conversation. He frowned as Orsino hinted none-too-subtly that he wished to overthrow Meredith, and he scowled even further when Hawke made a joke about making Meredith a farewell cake if a coup should ever occur. 

He was silent as he followed her and Varric out of the hall. They made their way back to the little boat that would return them to Kirkwall, and Hawke joked constantly with Varric during the short trip. Fenris, meanwhile, sat near the bow and mulled over the evening’s events. 

As usual in these situations, he was irritated at Hawke for her mage favouritism. But he was starting to wonder if his irritation was more an artifact of the past: a habitual annoyance, as opposed to true discontent with Hawke’s decisions. 

From a completely objective point of view, the Knight-Commander’s behaviour was seeming less and less logical. If Templars were speaking against her, willing to actually work with mages to oust her, Fenris could no longer completely attribute the problem to the mages being entitled. Years ago, he _would_ have blamed the mages for tonight’s debacle; he would have chalked it up to the Templars being enchanted, twisted and corrupted from their noble purpose by the mages’ manipulations. But his years in Hawke’s company had rendered him uncertain. 

Hawke was proof that mages could be strong. She had never been even remotely tempted by the power that blood magic could afford. And then there was Keran to consider. Keran was so convinced of the rightness of Thrask’s cause, despite being tortured by blood mages all those years ago.

 _The mages want the Circle,_ Keran had said. _They want it to work like it’s supposed to._ Fenris had never heard such a thing said before. But he supposed he hadn’t had much opportunity to hear such opinions. The only mages he knew were apostates who disliked the Circle on principle, including Hawke herself. 

Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, this whole incident was quite damning indeed for Meredith. 

_But then there are mages like Grace,_ he thought. Grace, who had professed herself to be innocent all those years ago, and who had betrayed her own ally at the first sign of trouble.

Fenris curled his lip in disgust. The memory of Grace’s vicious and power-hungry face as she drew her bloody dagger from her own belly, then exploded into an abomination… 

_Curse these blasted power-hungry blood mages,_ Fenris thought. _This_ was why the Circle needed to control mages, not simply protect them. This was why the Rite of Tranquility existed. The familiar anger leaked back in, diluting Fenris’s uncertainty once again. By the time they reached Kirkwall, he was quite prepared to hash it out with Hawke. 

Varric could clearly gauge his mood. He shot Fenris a fleeting look before shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling at Hawke. “Thanks for the adventure, Champion,” he said. “Maybe we can stick to the city next time? Keep my best boots out of the muck.”

She bumped Varric playfully with her hip. “I can’t leave the city without you! What would I ever do without your glittering accolades? I forget sometimes how fantastic I am. I need you to talk me up in case I forget.”

“Careful, Hawke,” Varric warned. “You might need a new hood if your head gets any bigger.” He winked at her, then nodded in farewell to Fenris. “Elf. See you around,” he said. 

“Goodnight,” Fenris said politely, and Varric nodded once more before sauntering away. 

Hawke took Fenris’s hand as they made their way back to her house. “Well, that was fun,” she said breezily. “Nothing like a good kidnapping-and-conspiracy combo to shake up the old routine. I don’t know about you, but I despise peace and quiet. Sitting at home with a good book? Boring! No no, give me cloaks and daggers every day. That’s the ticket to a good life.” 

She was upset. It was obvious in the tightness of her grip on his hand. It was obvious in the constancy of her jokes. As Fenris listened silently to her cheerful prattle, he realized that he was torn; on the one hand, he was angry about the evening’s events, and the familiar impulse to fight with Hawke was as strong as ever. Their fights had become more satisfying over the years, evolving from his vicious one-sided explosions of rage into heated two-sided debates, and although her opinions often rankled, Fenris always wanted to hear them. 

He liked that Hawke listened to him. He liked that she heard him, and he liked that she countered him and pushed him to think beyond the seething hate that he’d been conditioned to hide behind. If he was perfectly honest, he also _really_ liked that their fights now ended more often than not in sex. And so it was that he was more than ready to fight with her the second they returned to her house. 

But Hawke was upset. And despite his anger, the other half of him wanted simply to enfold her in his arms and to ward her distress away.

She opened the mansion door and kicked off her boots while propping her staff against the wall, then turned to him with a smile as he locked the door behind them. “Shall we have a drink?” she said brightly. “I could really use-”

“Hawke,” he said. “Speak plainly now. What do you really want to say?”

Her smile froze for a split second. Then she turned and meandered into the main room and held out her hand to Toby. “Who’s the smartest droolmaker in Kirkwall?” she crooned. “You are! Yes, you are.”

He watched with an odd mixture of sympathy and annoyance as she knelt beside the mabari and ruffled his jowls, then rubbed his ears until he was madly wagging his tail. Fenris leaned against her writing desk and folded his arms, and when she finally looked up at him, he raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“All right,” she said. She rose to her feet, and her smile was gone. “You want me to speak plainly?” 

He waved one hand. “Please,” he said. “Speak your piece. I’m listening.”

“Fine. This is all Meredith’s fault,” Hawke said bluntly. “She’s so busy chasing imaginary demons that she can’t protect her own men.” She pulled off her gauntlet, then began unbuckling her chest plate. She turned toward Fenris with a crooked smile. “How in the Void do you manage to let a Templar get abducted from your own ranks? And Carver, of all people? My fool of a baby brother? It’s ridiculous.” She plonked her armour on the desk beside him. “Terrible leadership. Aveline would never let one of her men get abducted,” she continued. “Can you imagine if someone tried to take Donnic? The reckoning she’d inflict-”

“And the blood mages?” Fenris interrupted. “Grace would have had Carver killed simply to spite you. You would call her blameless in this?” 

“Of course not!” Hawke snapped. “But she was just one mage. One isolated crazy person. Alain refused to listen to her, I’ll have you remember. And the others…” She trailed off, and her face creased with regret for a moment. 

She swallowed hard, then glared at him. “We killed so many mages tonight. All they wanted was to be treated fairly. They didn’t want to be imprisoned and kept like-”

She broke off suddenly and dropped her gaze, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Say it,” he growled. “They didn’t want to be kept like slaves. That is what you were going to say, is it not?” 

She pursed her lips, then turned and began walking up the stairs. 

Fenris followed her. The anger was beating steadily in his ears now. “And what of Thrask?” he demanded. “Your precious Ser Thrask. He trusted that blood mage, and she turned on him in a heartbeat. She didn’t hesitate to draw the power from her veins!”

Hawke strode into her bedroom and started pulling off her clothes. Fenris folded his arms and glared at her as her shirt drifted to the ground. “These mages have no self-control,” he railed. “They’re too easily tempted by power. Controlling the elements is not enough for them. They must control everyone around them as well!” 

“The Templars are no different!” Hawke snapped. She fumbled at the laces of her trousers as she continued to talk. “They don’t care about protecting the mages. They just want to control them and keep them under their thumbs!” She pulled at her laces for a second longer, then threw her hands up in frustration. “Fuck’s sake, these fucking trousers-”

Fenris tutted. She was so damned _impatient_. “I will do it,” he said, and he stepped close to her and began to unknot her laces. 

They were silent for a moment as he picked at the stubborn knot. Fenris watched the careful rise and fall of her belly against his knuckles as she breathed. The longer he worked at the knot and watched her steady breathing, the more he began to calm down.

He finally untied the knot, then brushed his fingers lightly over her bare belly. “Mages don’t need protection,” he said quietly. “They _need_ control. You and Anders think mages are treated like slaves, but it is not the same. A slave cannot set his master aflame in a fit of fear. A slave cannot transform into a murderous monster by slitting his wrist.” 

She sighed loudly. “Fenris, you’re being so-”

He reached up and took her chin in a gentle grip. “Mages need to be more like you,” he said firmly. “ _You_ have control over your magic. You do not let it control you. You do not let it get the better of you. You do not understand how rare you are.” 

“I wasn’t raised in the Circle,” she countered. Her voice was low, but her tone was fierce, as fierce as the look in her eyes. “You think I would be the same person if I’d been raised in a place like the Gallows? With Templars telling me I was a sinful piece of trash because of the way I was born?” 

Fenris stared at her in silence for a long moment, unable to find a reply. The angry part of his mind rebelled, wanting to argue with her, to tell her she was wrong, but he… couldn’t.

He couldn’t tell her she was wrong, because perhaps she was right.

She gently pulled his hand away from her chin. “I’m not special, Fenris. I’m just lucky. I’m lucky that my father was a mage and a good teacher. I’m lucky that my parents hid me and Bethany away.” She pushed her trousers down and kicked them away. “I’ve always been lucky. Other people, not so much. Thrask understood that. He was one of the unlucky ones.” She shook her head. “Andraste’s tits, was he ever unlucky. His daughter and his co-conspirator both becoming abominations?” She was quiet for a moment, then she looked at Fenris with a feeble imitation of a smile. “Too bad we never played diamondback against him. Varric would have bankrupted him.” 

She walked away and disappeared into the bathroom, and Fenris slowly began to strip off his armour as he listened to the sound of her brushing her teeth. He pulled on his sleeping clothes, then wandered into the bathroom to join her. 

He picked up his toothbrush. “Thrask was not blameless in this,” he said. “He… he chose his companions carelessly. Grace has been angry and resentful of you for years. He should have noticed how volatile she was.”

In truth, Fenris wasn’t sure anymore whether he was trying to convince her of Thrask’s wrongdoing, or to convince himself. His anger had been whittled down to a feeble hint of irritation now, and he was starting to get the distinct feeling that he was losing this argument. 

Hawke seemed to notice his indecision. She leaned over the basin and spat, then shot him a knowing look. “I don’t know, Fenris. Sometimes the angry and resentful companions are the best ones.” She winked at him, then slipped out of the bathroom and unbuckled her bustier. 

_Back to the jokes._ Fenris knew she was upset, and he knew he should let the conversation end, but he couldn't seem to still his tongue. For some reason he couldn’t quite understand, he wanted Hawke to argue with him. He _wanted_ her to push back. 

He placed his toothbrush back on the counter and followed her out of the bathroom. “Don’t be glib,” he said. “Thrask was incautious. He placed himself at the mercy of a blood mage. He placed Carver at that mercy. Your brother in the thrall of blood magic-”

She spun toward him, and Fenris drew back in surprise at the uncharacteristic fury in her face. “I know that,” she shouted. “I know, all right? I get it. Carver’s life was in danger, and I should have protected him better. You think I don’t know that?”

Fenris gaped at her as she threw her bustier aside. “That… Hawke, that is not what I meant,” he said. 

“That’s not what you’re saying, but that’s what you’re thinking!” she retorted. “If I hadn’t let Grace go free all those years ago, she wouldn’t have gotten caught, and she wouldn’t have taken Carver hostage, and he would have been safe and happy in the Gallows with his stupid Templar friends.”

Fenris stared at her, thrown off by the sudden turn their conversation had taken. He hadn’t been thinking that, but clearly _she_ had. 

“It was not your fault that they took Carver hostage,” he said carefully.

“Of course it was,” she snapped. “If I wasn’t so bloody famous, he wouldn’t have been a target. Rynne Hawke, the Loudmouthed Champion of Kirkwall, putting her family in harm’s way by sticking her nose in everyone’s business.” She was moving haphazardly around the room now, picking her clothes off the floor only to put them back down and fiddling idly with Fenris’s tidy pile of armour.

He frowned, then slowly approached her and took her arm. “Carver is fine. He’s back at the Gallows safe and sound. Fretting will serve no purpose now.” 

She pulled her arm away from him and idly ran her fingers over his armour, and Fenris noticed with growing concern that she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “What if we hadn’t gotten there when we did?” she asked. “It was a close fucking call. That crazy bitch turning into an abomination, and Carver just lying there looking like he was dead-” 

Her voice cracked, and she wrapped her arms around herself and began scratching compulsively at the left side of her ribs, the side where her tattoo curled across her skin. 

And just like that, Fenris wasn’t angry anymore. He reached out and took her hand to stop her from scratching. “Come here,” he said gently.

She shook her head and pulled her hand away. “It was my fault that Carver was taken,” she said. She looked him in the eye. “That’s what you really think. Isn’t it?”

“No,” he insisted. His chest was aching now, aching with sympathy as he studied her fragile and defiant face. If he’d known this was what she was thinking, that she was blaming herself for the night’s events… 

He reached for her scratching fingers again, but she took a step back. “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?” she said. “I’m absolutely freezing.” She rubbed her goosebumped arms, then turned away from him and picked her shirt off the floor. 

Fenris watched with growing distress as she put on her shirt. He walked over to the fireplace and added a few logs to the glowing embers, then poked at them until they bloomed into flame. When he turned around again, it was to find Hawke tucked in bed. 

He studied her for a moment, then slowly slipped into bed beside her, and he couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing soft flannel trousers as well as her shirt. 

Hawke never slept in clothes, not since they’d been together. Feeling more and more uneasy, Fenris settled himself awkwardly on his pillow, then glanced at Hawke from the corner of his eye. 

She was lying on her back with one arm tucked behind her head. Her face was calm and her eyes were closed, but as he studied her quietly, he noticed the way she was chewing subtly at her lower lip. 

Fenris didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen Hawke acting so aloof before; it wasn’t like her to shut down like this, not even when they were arguing. 

He gazed in silence at the canopy of her bed. With every second that ticked past and every anxious beat of his heart, he felt distinctly like the air was thickening between them, brewing into something increasingly dark and ugly. 

He couldn’t bear it. He tentatively reached for her hand beneath the blankets. “Hawke,” he murmured, and he slid his fingers across her wrist. 

A moment later, before Fenris could so much as take a breath, Hawke rolled toward him and slung her leg over his. 

She pressed herself against him and slipped her fingers into his hair. “Make me forget,” she whispered, then kissed his jaw. 

“What?” he said dumbly. He was thrown off once again, unbalanced by her abruptly shifting mood, but his arms wrapped instinctively around her body all the same. 

She kissed his cheekbone, then his ear, then she awkwardly pulled her shirt off and tossed it aside. “Please, Fenris, make me forget all of this,” she begged. “I can’t… fuck’s sake, I hate thinking about it. I hate all of it. Just make me forget for tonight, all right?”

She pressed herself against him, and he could feel the heat of her chest through his shirt. He swallowed hard, feeling torn yet again. His undisciplined body was already responding to hers, rising with interest as she pressed her groin against his thigh, but he wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do; shouldn’t they talk about this…? 

He opened his mouth to speak, and Hawke kissed him hard. She shifted her body until she was between his legs, bracing her weight on one hand and clasping the back of his neck with the other, and Fenris surrendered himself to her kiss, parting his lips and allowing the slick entry of her tongue into his mouth. 

She nipped his tongue and pressed herself against his swiftly swelling crotch, and Fenris grunted and clenched his fingers against her waist. “Hawke,” he rasped. “I don’t - I didn’t mean…” 

_Kaffas,_ he couldn’t think properly, not with her pressed against him through the torturous barrier of his clothes. He scrambled for a coherent thought and tried again. “I was not trying to blame you. I meant -”

“Shhh. Don’t talk,” she whispered. She brushed her thumb across his lower lip, then followed her thumb with a careful tracing of her tongue. 

He greedily flicked his tongue out to meet hers, and then she pulled away and slid her hand from his neck down to his chest. “Touch me,” she breathed. 

He panted with increasing desperation as her hand slid down along his belly and beneath his shirt. Her fingers were on his bare skin, tracing up along the planes of his belly, then higher to stroke his nipple - 

She rolled his nipple between her fingers, and he released a helpless groan. He smoothed his hand up her bare back and cupped the back of her head. “Where?” he rasped. “Where should I touch you?”

“Everywhere,” she said. She shifted up onto her knees, then rolled up the edge of his shirt. 

Fenris complied with her wordless request, pulling off his shirt and throwing it aside. Then Hawke’s lips were on his skin, her tongue trailing from his collarbone down to his chest. 

She licked his nipple, then bit his nipple lightly, and he arched into her mouth. “Rynne,” he gasped. 

She pinched his other nipple, forcing another desperate breath of air from his lungs, and then her hands were pulling insistently on the waistband of his breeches, dragging them down as he obediently lifted his hips. Before he could say a word, before he could beg or protest or ask if she was sure about this, her lips were wrapped around the throbbing beacon of his cock. 

“ _Venhedis,_ ” he groaned. The sudden heat and pressure of her throat around his cock… He slammed his head back in the pillows and moaned her name. The pleasure she was bestowing upon him was neither gentle nor tender; it was focused and fierce, her mouth rising and falling along his length in a single-minded rhythm, and Fenris could barely keep up with how swiftly his pleasure was rising. It was like a storm low in his belly, a rushing and unstoppable roar that her voracious mouth was pulling forth, and before he was ready, before he had a chance to properly appreciate the pull, he was crying out his rapture and shuddering beneath her. 

She continued to suckle him hard until he reached down and lifted her chin. She looked him in the eye and licked her lips, and Fenris stared stupidly back at her, feeling simultaneously wrung out and set on edge by feverish look in her eyes. 

She sat back on her knees and began to shimmy off her flannel pants. “I want to fuck your face,” she said bluntly. “Can I-?” 

He grabbed her arm. “Yes,” he said, and he pulled on her arm. “Come.” 

She kicked off her pants, then crawled up his body and straddled his face, and Fenris wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her against his mouth.

He dragged his tongue over her swollen bud, and she gasped and braced her hands on the headboard. “Oh Maker,” she whined, and then she was rolling her hips against his face, rolling the taut little nub of her clit against the flat of his tongue, spreading the slick of her arousal across his lips and his chin, and Fenris clenched his fingers against her thighs to pull her more firmly to his face. 

A few delicious minutes later, she arched her back and writhed against his tongue, then cried out sharply in her climax. Fenris slowed the swirling of his tongue, easing off to a sally of soft kisses to her slippery folds until Hawke lifted herself up on her knees. 

She crawled down his body to straddle his hips, and he pushed himself upright, and then Hawke’s hands were clasping the back of his neck in a firm grip as she kissed him hard, heedless of her own arousal still coating his face as she tugged his lower lip with her teeth. Fenris panted against her mouth, then kissed her back in kind, a nearly punishing kiss with his tongue stroking hers and his teeth nipping at her lip.

She broke the kiss with a gasp. Her hips were moving again, a steady grind over his semi-hardened cock, and Fenris breathed hard as she nipped his earlobe. “Touch me,” she whispered. “Please, Fenris, touch me - I just, I need you to touch me…” 

_Touch me,_ she said. But Fenris was starting to grasp what she really wanted. She wanted a distraction. She’d used this tactic on him more than once, pulling him from his anger with the sweetness of her lips and the sweet pliancy of her body, and now she was asking for him to do the same to her. 

She sank her fingers into his hair and pulled. “Please,” she mewled. 

Fenris surged forward, briefly laying her on her back before rolling her roughly onto her belly. He pulled her hips up slightly, then ran his finger along the length of her cleft. 

She whined pleadingly and pushed back against his fingers, then cried out as he slid two fingers inside of her. “Fuck!” she gasped.

He twisted his wrist carefully, then curled his fingers inside of her, and she pounded her fist on the mattress and let out another cry of pleasure. Fenris slid his fingers in and out of her sleek heat, curling his fingers with every entry until she was bucking back against his hand.

He leaned over her, leaning as close to her ear as possible while he continued to fuck her from behind with his fingers. “Is this what you want?” he demanded. 

Hawke arched her back. “Yes!” she blurted.

“You like this, do you?” he taunted. “My fingers pushing inside of you like this? This is enough for you, is it?”

She mewled and pounded her fist on the mattress again. Her breathing was becoming more ragged, a whimper accompanying her every exhale, and Fenris fought to control his own breathing. He knew how much she enjoyed his voice when he growled in her ear, and he could only hope it would be enough push away the thoughts she was trying so hard to evade tonight.

He swirled his fingers inside of her. “Tell me, Hawke. Is this all that you want? Just my tongue and my fingers between your legs? Is that enough for you?”

“No,” she whimpered. 

“No. It’s not enough, is it?” he mused. He removed his fingers and slid them teasingly along the swollen edges of her folds. “Then tell me, Rynne. Tell me what you want. Is it my cock? Is that what you want?”

She arched her back more deeply and spread her legs further apart. “Yes!” she sobbed. “Yes, that’s what I want, _please!_ ” 

He dropped his lips to her back and nipped the edge of her tattoo. “Shall I fuck you until you scream my name into the Void?" he growled. "Is that what you want?” 

“Maker’s fucking balls, _yes!_ ” she cried.

Fenris plunged his fingers back inside of her, and she shoved her face against the mattress and cried out into the blankets. He curled his fingers inside of her for a moment longer, then pulled his fingers free and rolled her onto her back. 

He shoved her legs apart, then dragged her closer. “Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me what you want.” 

She arched her chest and lifted her hips toward him. “Fuck me hard, right now!” she screamed. 

He pumped his fist along his length once, then positioned himself at her entrance. “Consider it done,” he grunted, then he slammed himself into her slick depths.

She arched her neck and cried out, and then Fenris was fucking her furiously, exactly as she’d asked. She twined her fingers in the sheets, her face twisting with rapture and her breasts bouncing with the ferocity of his pumping hips, and Fenris stared at her, watching attentively to catch her pleasure as effectively as he could, angling himself slightly and grinding deep and hard when she gasped and clenched her fingers more tightly in the blankets. 

He watched Hawke, watching her face and her body and listening to the sounds of her gasps and savouring the heated feel of her thighs under his palms, and then he was gritting his teeth, trying to hold back his own impatient climax as she lifted her hips toward him, her eyes shut tight and her lips parted as she breathed hard -

She released a wild cry and jammed her fist against her mouth, and Fenris cried out as well, shuddering fitfully as his own climax ripped through him from his groin all the way up to his throat, like the most exquisite knife rending him from the inside out. 

He hunched over her, bracing his weight on one palm as he gasped for breath. Hawke was trembling still, her fist pressed against her lips and her eyes closed. As Fenris caught his breath, he gently pulled her hand away from her mouth.

There was a reddened bitemark over her thumb. Fenris gently kissed the mark, then kissed the inside of her wrist before releasing her hand. He carefully withdrew from her, then flopped onto the bed beside her and pulled her back against his chest. 

He curled his arm tightly around her waist. She pressed her spine into his chest and smoothed her palm along his forearm, and Fenris allowed her a moment of peaceful silence. 

He brushed his nose along the edge of her shoulder before speaking. “Don’t dwell on this night,” he murmured. “You averted a major disaster tonight, and Carver is no worse for wear. There is no point entertaining such doubts.”

She sighed, then pressed her back a bit more firmly into his chest. “Averted for now,” she drawled. “Just wait and see what happens tomorrow. How much do you want to bet that I’ll get a fresh new batch of problems to deal with in the morning mail?” 

He twisted his lips, but he didn’t refute her. It was the unfortunate truth that problems seemed to fall into her lap, whether she invited them or not. 

He kissed her shoulder, gently braising her skin with his lips until she released a heavy sigh. Then she rolled over to face him. 

Her amber eyes were serious and sad. “Are you certain you want to stick with me and the mages when the time comes?” she whispered. “You weren’t happy about tonight, I know…”

Fenris cupped her cheek. “I am not certain about the mages,” he told her honestly. “But I am certain about you. Never be so foolish as to doubt that.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded silently. Fenris gently wiped an errant tear from the delicate ridge of her nose, then pulled her closer. 

He tucked her head beneath his chin, and she wrapped her arm tightly around his chest, and Fenris simply held her shaking form. Some time later, when the tears and the tension were finally leached from her body, he listened as her breathing slowed and evened into the easy rhythm of sleep. 

The fire was burning low, fading into little more than flickering embers. Darkness cast its nightly veil over Hawke’s bedroom, and Fenris finally closed his eyes. 

He’d told Hawke not to dwell on her doubts, but he had his own doubts to entertain: doubts about the mages and the Templars and the Circle, uncomfortable doubts that picked at the way he’d always understood the world to be. But those doubts could wait until tomorrow. 

For now, he would simply hold the one person he had no doubts about at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey remember when I said I'd slow down on the fic writing to plan my elopement. Hahahahahaha. ~~Do you guys know how hard it is to try and arrange to get married in a foreign country because it suuuuucks~~
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to chat Broody Elf with me!


	30. The Best Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for @4vrafangirl on Tumblr. The prompt: "Your hair is really soft."
> 
> I just used this prompt as a mad excuse to write some gross Fenhawke cuddly fluffy smut to go along with this song that I'm totally obsessed with right now. Forgive me, my friends.

Waking up, sleeping in  
Afternoon daydreaming with you  
Spending time, taking the view  
I love everything we do

This is the best part  
When you do what you do to my heart:  
This is the best part

[ \- "The Best Part" by Bien](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgqJNWFRiKo)  
***********************

Fenris released a long sigh against Hawke’s bare chest. “Don’t stop,” he groaned.

She chuckled and pressed her lips to the top of his head. “You like this, do you?”

He grumbled incoherently in response. Her fingers were carding through his hair, combing and smoothing the strands, and the way she was pressing her fingertips against his scalp…

 _Fasta vass_ , it felt good. Fenris used to tease Hawke about wanting her back scratched like a mabari, but in this moment, he was feeling an undeniable sense of kinship with the hound that was lounging lazily beside the bed. 

He tightened his arm around Hawke’s waist and rubbed his cheek against her sternum, and she laughed lightly into his hair. She curled her fingers around the back of his neck, and he felt the heat of her breath against the crown of his head. 

“Your hair is really soft,” she said. “Such soft hair for such a tough warrior. Tell me your beauty secret.” 

Fenris happily inhaled her sandalwood-scented skin. “There is no secret,” he mumbled. “I wash it. That’s all.” 

“Oh Fenris, that’s bullshit,” Hawke said playfully. She idly twisted a strand of his hair around her fingers. “I wash my hair every day and it’s not nearly as silky as yours.” 

“Perhaps that is your problem,” he replied. 

“What, washing my hair daily?” she said in surprise. 

“Yes,” he said. He dipped his face low and nuzzled her breast. “I wash my hair sparingly. Only when it’s particularly filthy. Some days I only rinse it.”

Her fingers went still in his hair. “Really? How have I never noticed that?”

“When we bathe, your eyes are usually elsewhere,” he drawled. 

Hawke released a sultry little laugh. “That is a very good point. All right, handsome, you win this round.” She slung her leg over his hip to pull him closer, tangling her feet with his calves as she carefully ran her hand through his hair again. 

The feeling of her fingers in his hair… It was so damned _good_. He sighed against her skin. “I was not aware that we were competing,” he mumbled. “But I will happily accept the win.” He idly brushed her nipple with his lips, enjoying the way the dusky little peak pearled against his mouth. 

She hummed happily into his hair, and Fenris closed his eyes. The sun was peeking through the cracks in the curtains, and he knew that he and Hawke would soon have to rise, but surely another minute in bed wouldn’t hurt. 

Soon his mind was drifting, floating in that mercurial space between alert and asleep. Then Hawke’s foot suddenly jerked. 

His eyes snapped open. She inhaled sharply, then released a sleepy little moan, and Fenris leaned away slightly to look at her. “Is everything all right?” 

“Mmm. Everything is perfect,” she murmured. “Just look where I am.” She wiggled slightly in his arms.

He shot her a fond little half-smile, then reluctantly began to release her waist. “Unfortunate, then, that we should rise-”

“No,” Hawke said plaintively. She tightened her arm around his shoulders. “I don’t want to. This is the best part.”

He stopped in his half-hearted attempts to leave the bed. “The best part of what?” he asked. 

“Of the whole day, obviously,” she said. She shifted lower in the bed and settled her arm tightly around his chest. “Imagine being able to stay here all day, no assassins to track down or apostates to kill or any of that excitement. Just you and me and no clothes…” She plucked at his sleeping tunic. 

Fenris huffed in amusement. “You would become bored of lying here day after day. You know that.” 

“Honestly, these days I would rather be bored than busy,” she retorted. “It’s always ‘Hawke this, Hawke that’. Why does everything always fall to me?” She slid her leg over his thigh, trapping his leg beneath her own as though he was trying to escape. “I would rather sit here in this house whining about nothing to do than go smoothing Meredith and Orsino’s ruffled feathers every other day.” She paused, then tilted her head against his chest. “Now _that’s_ an odd mental image. The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter as puffed-up ravens squawking at each other? Rather fitting, actually.” She snorted a little laugh. 

Fenris frowned slightly; something odd had occurred to him. Ever since he’d known Hawke, people had always begged for her assistance, and he’d never seen her say no. She playfully complained at times about all the pleas for help, but she always said yes.

When they’d first met, Fenris had assumed that her constant acquiescence was a symptom of her cavalier spirit. He’d assumed she was simply seeking fortune and adventure with her constant collection of tasks and trials. And in part, it was true; Hawke was naturally adventurous, and she never shied away from any kind of lark that could afford a good laugh. But the more Fenris got to know her and her family, the more he’d seen the bitter truth: Hawke didn’t think she had a choice. 

She’d been in charge of her family ever since her father had died. She’d been the one who called the shots and made the arrangements for her family’s day-to-day lives. Hawke took on everyone’s responsibilities because she’d never had the chance to refuse them. 

And now Fenris wondered what she would have done if she had the choice.

“Hawke,” he said. “Do you ever wish…” 

He broke off, and she tilted her chin up to look askance at him. Fenris chewed his lip for a moment, trying to find the right words to ask without making her sad. 

He tried again. “If you could have done anything differently when you came to Kirkwall, what would you have done?” 

She smiled. “Ooh, playing twenty questions now, are we? I like this game.” She nestled her cheek against his chest. “You know, I’m not sure. Working for Athenril wasn’t so bad. Um… I’m glad I met Varric. Maybe if we could have avoided that whole Deep Roads debacle, though. That would have been ideal.” She sat up on her elbow and shot him a saucy smile. “I was _very_ glad when I met you. You stole my heart that day with your gross bloody hands. _That’s_ something I wouldn’t change.” 

He admired the mischievous glint in her eye. “An odd compliment, perhaps, but I will take it,” he said.

She grinned at him, then settled down on his chest again. “I like having all of you beautiful idiots to hang around with,” she said. “I wouldn’t change anything about that.” She fell quiet for a while, her fingers trailing idly across his chest, and when she spoke again, her tone was more pensive than before. 

“If I could change anything, it would be the being-famous bit,” she said. “Helping people out for a little coin is all fine and good. Doing funny things and getting paid for it is even better. But being all well-known, getting pulled into politics and all that…” 

She shifted restlessly and sighed. “Honestly, Fenris, I just want to be happy. That’s all I want. When we got here from Lothering, I thought to myself, ‘you know what would be nice? Being happy.’”

He glanced at her sharply. He knew Hawke was not always as lighthearted as she appeared to be, but these words seemed… ominous somehow. “Are you not happy?” he asked. 

She shot him an odd look. “I am now,” she said, in a tone that suggested he was being dense. She hugged him more firmly. “Of course I’m happy _now_. It’s just…” 

She trailed off, and Fenris slowly ran his hand along her naked back. She didn’t need to say anything more; he knew what she meant. He knew the roiling unrest between the mages and the Templars was taking its toll on her. He knew how anxious she truly felt, and how heavily the conflict was weighing on her shoulders. 

They lay in silence for a moment. Then she lifted herself on her elbow again. “What about you?” she asked. “What do you think you’d be doing now if we hadn’t - er. I mean. If you hadn’t come to Kirkwall?”

“If we hadn’t met, you mean?” he teased. He shot her a little smirk, hoping his jocular tone would chase away her worries. 

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she smiled. “I know, I know what I almost said. I don’t want to assume I’m _that_ important. You would have killed Danarius eventually whether I was there or not.” 

Fenris twisted his lips skeptically, and Hawke gently smacked his chest in rebuke. “You would have,” she insisted. “Maybe you’d even have gotten him sooner if I wasn’t distracting you by constantly dragging you all over Kirkwall.”

“And the Vimmark Mountains,” Fenris added. “Don’t forget the Vimmark Mountains. Or the blasted Bone Pit.” 

She barked out a laugh. “See? You would have been fine without me.” She settled her cheek on his chest and slid her arm around him once more. 

Fenris carefully rolled onto his side and cradled her neck in his palm. He stroked her cheek until she looked him in the eye. “I will never know how things might have played out if we had not met,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to. I don’t think about what could have been. There is no point in such imaginings. It is as I told you before: I cannot imagine a life without you in it.” 

Her pinkened cheeks flushed even further. She shuffled closer to him and curled her fists against his chest. “Such a smooth talker,” she whispered. 

He shook his head and smoothed his thumb across her cheek. “No,” he said. “This is the unadorned truth, Rynne.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. Fenris slid his fingers into her short dark hair, then slowly tugged her head back until their lips lightly met. 

He kissed her carefully, a soft and gentle press of the lips, and her hands slowly unfurled to lay flat on his chest. Their kiss was slow and languid, a lazy press and flow of love from his lips to hers and back. 

Then Toby gave a loud yawn beside the bed, and they reluctantly broke apart.

Hawke sighed against his cheek. “I suppose we need to get moving, don’t we?”

Fenris sighed as well. She was probably right. 

He slowly slid his hand from her hair back to her neck, then down over her breast. His fingers trailed slowly over her ribs before coming to rest between her legs. 

He felt the tiny catching of her breath as he cupped her sex through her smallclothes. “Not just yet. Let’s remain here a while longer,” he murmured. 

“Okay,” she whispered. She gripped his shoulder, her lips parting on a shaky breath as he slowly ran his fingers between her legs, stroking her cleft through the silk of her smalls. 

Fenris watched with rising hunger as her face shifted from languid to lustful. It wasn’t long before he could feel her slickness through her smallclothes, and when she was eagerly tilting her hips toward his hand, he slid his hand carefully into the silken garment. 

His fingers moved deftly through her curls to find the hidden nub of her clit, and Hawke dug her nails into his shoulders. “Fenris,” she gasped.

He kissed her firmly, trapping her whimpers of pleasure as she undulated against his hand, then lifted her leg and hooked it over his hip to give him easier access. He smoothed his fingers along her swollen folds, spreading her wetness and caressing her clit.

In the space of a few blissful minutes, Hawke was ready. She was straining against his hand, her thigh trembling against his hip and her breathing tremulous and jerky, and then she arched against his chest and released a breathy cry. 

He dipped his hand low and plunged his fingers inside of her. She arched her neck and bucked against his hand, taking his fingers deep, then suddenly she grabbed his wrist. “Fenris,” she whimpered.

He paused in the curling of his fingers and fought to catch his breath. “What is it?” he panted.

She stared at him for a moment, then pulled his hand from her smalls and shoved her smallclothes off. Then she was kissing him, her tongue in his mouth as her fingers tugged at the laces of his loose linen trousers. 

She impatiently pushed his trousers down to his knees, and then her leg was hooking over his hip again as she tried to thrust her hips toward him, and Fenris was gasping for breath, trying desperately to pull her closer, trying to bring her heat against his hardness. But the angle was awkward, lying on their sides like this, and he couldn’t - he couldn’t get close enough, he needed to be closer… 

He lifted her leg off of his hip and roughly rolled her over. And then he was behind her, admiring the tattoo that sprawled across her back, running his palm across the valley of her waist as she arched her back and brushed against his cock with the rounded fullness of her bottom. 

He lifted Hawke’s leg and slid himself into her blissful heat, and they gasped together. 

Fenris gripped her thigh, pressing his forehead to her shoulder blade as he thrust into her. And then she was grabbing his wrist, pulling his hand away from her thigh and sliding his palm over her belly. She entwined her fingers with his, and Fenris felt the wavelike flow of her belly against his palm as she took him deep, as she rolled in a smooth rhythm with the pumping of his hips. He held her close, inhaling her skin, his body moving in perfect time to the melody of her whimpering cries. 

He slid his hand higher, palming Hawke’s breast as he tasted her shoulder blade with his tongue, taking the salt of her skin onto his lips. He drank in the sound and the scent and the sheer blissful feel of her, his mind sinking into every perfect part of her as his cock sank into her heated depths. Hawke clutched his hand, holding his palm against her skin as though to never let him go, and as his climax crept toward him, he curled his arm more tightly around her body, holding her closer and feeling the heaving rise and fall of her ribs. When he finally came, he bit her golden shoulder, and a whimpering groan bled from his tongue and teeth into the succulent span of her skin. 

He clutched her tightly as he caught his breath. Her chest was rising and falling beneath his arm in a steady flow, and his heart seemed to slow in time with her slow and easy breathing. Fenris relaxed into the moment, giving himself over to her slightly sweaty warmth and the spicy scent of skin and sex. 

Eventually she rolled over to face him. “We should probably _really_ get up now, right? For real this time?”

Fenris studied the smile at the corner of her amber eyes. She was cuddled closely against him, her knee between his thighs and her fists tucked against his chest again, looking as though she had no intention of leaving this bed anytime soon.

He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Soon,” he murmured. “But not just yet.”

The wider world could wait. The problems in Kirkwall would still be there if Hawke remained in bed for a few minutes more, and Fenris would enjoy these minutes for all that they were worth. 

Hawke was right. This was the best part. This breathless moment that they spent in each other’s arms, sheltered in this delicate threshold between one day and the next: this was the best part of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of housekeeping:  
> \- This is the second last chapter of this particular fic! I rather like the symmetry of 30 chapters: 15 pre-reunion and 15 post-reunion. It wasn't even intentional! XD  
> \- The last chapter may take a bit longer to publish than usual; I'm going out of town next week and I don't think I'll have much time to write. But it will also be a longer chapter, I think. And then this fic might crack 100k words. *maniacal laugh*  
> Lilibet, you know what this last chapter is going to be... ;) xoxo  
> \- I keep saying this, but THERE IS MORE FENRIS AND RYNNE TO COME, for anyone who's interested! XD The next chapter will just be the last of the canon-compliant stuff.  
> \- As always, feel free to come and [squeal about Fenris with me on Tumblr!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/)


	31. House of Cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is my take on the final battle of DA2. As with MotA, there is canon dialogue here with my own embellishments, and I tried to minimize the novelization-of-a-game as much as possible.

Fenris couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move his hand. Hawke was clutching it too tightly. 

He gaped stupidly at the expanding cloud of debris over the exploded Chantry. Then Hawke released his hand and punched Anders in the arm. “Is this why you made me distract the Grand Cleric?” she hissed.

Sebastian looked up from his desperate prayers. “You knew about this?” he yelled. He sounded absolutely furious. Fenris hadn’t heard him sounding this angry since… well, possibly ever. 

Hawke glared at the irate archer. “Do I look like I knew anything about this?” she demanded. She punched Anders in the arm again. “What in Andraste’s glorious tits were you _thinking?_ ”

Anders passively took her punches. “I removed the chance of compromise, because there _is_ no compromise,” he said.

“The Grand Cleric, slain by magic,” Meredith said slowly. Then she straightened her shoulders. “As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed immediately.” 

Hawke grabbed Fenris’s arm, and he tensed at the bite of her fingers. “Oh fuck,” she breathed. 

“The Circle didn’t even do this!” Orsino cried. He turned to Hawke in desperation. “Champion, you can’t let her. Help us stop this madness!” 

Sebastian jabbed a finger at Anders. “Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is standing right in front of us?” he yelled. “I swear to you, I will kill him!”

“Sebastian,” Hawke said sharply, but Anders simply shrugged. “If the choice is between a quick death now or a slow one later, I’d rather die fighting.” 

“Well, you may just get your wish,” Hawke drawled. Her fingernails were biting into Fenris’s bicep so sharply that it hurt. “These Templars don’t look very happy. I’m fairly sure your little stunt here isn’t going to make us any friends.” 

“Did the mages ever really have any friends, Hawke?” Anders said. “Think about everything we’ve seen these past few years, and you’ll see I’m right.”

Despite the fervency of his words, his manner and tone were calm - infuriatingly calm. All of a sudden, Fenris snapped.

He took an angry step toward Anders. “You may be ready to die, but the rest of us are not,” he spat. “You are taking all of us down with you for your misguided cause!” 

Anders lifted his chin. “Perhaps it’s time you knew what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself,” he retorted.

Fenris snarled, and Hawke pulled desperately on his arm. Then Meredith’s sharp voice cut in. “Enough!” she barked. “There is nothing to be done. Even if I wished to, I could not stay my hand. The people will demand blood.” 

Hawke shot Meredith a wheedling look. “Come on, Meredith, is blood really necessary? Can’t we give them booze instead? That would calm everyone right down. I’ll buy.” 

Meredith narrowed her eyes. “This is not a joke,” she snapped. “You have always seen the Templars as such, _Champion,_ but I am very deadly serious.”

“Please, Rynne, be reasonable,” Carver suddenly said. “I don’t want to fight you.” 

Fenris looked sharply at Carver. He had never heard Carver sounding so subdued. 

Hawke’s grip on his arm was tighter than ever. “No one is forcing you to fight me, Carv. In fact, why don’t you join me? Fight beside your big sister like old times?” Her voice held the faintest tremor, and Fenris reached up to grasp her hand. 

“Champion,” Orsino said, “does that mean…” 

She sighed and turned to Orsino, and her face was a picture of rueful resignation. “Yes, Orsino, you’ve got me. I’ll defend you and your mages.” 

There was a general outcry at her words: relief from Merrill and from Orsino’s entourage, outrage from Sebastian, and general dismay from Varric and Aveline both. Fenris wilted slightly; he’d known this was coming all along, but it was disappointing all the same.

Hawke winced up at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Fenris, I’m so sorry.” 

He shook his head. “This is a mistake, but I am with you. You know that.” 

She nodded and swallowed hard, then wrestled a smile back into place as she turned to Meredith. “So, what next? Shall I break out the champagne?” 

Meredith glared at her, then gestured sharply to her entourage. “Kill them all!” she commanded. She snapped her fingers at Carver and one other Templar guard, then briskly walked away. 

Carver shot a stricken look at Hawke as he followed Meredith’s steps. A moment later, the Templars were upon them. 

Fenris fought with the same ferocity as he always did, holding nothing back as he brought his lyrium marks to life and swung his sword in a wide destructive arc. But with every Templar he felled, he grew more angry. 

This was foolish, and it was _wrong_. Orsino’s people may not have been directly responsible for Anders’s deplorable stupidity, but neither were the Templars. Every heart he tore out, every limb he sliced and every life he now took: it was one Templar less to control the remaining mages. 

By the time Meredith’s people were dead, Fenris was more irate than ever. He glared venomously at Anders, who was slowly taking a seat on a dilapidated crate. 

Hawke stepped close to him, her hand tentatively outstretched. “Fenris, are you…?” 

He instinctively shirked away from her hand. “Not now,” he said quietly, trying to keep the growl from his voice.

She swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered. She turned away and went to speak with Orsino, who was conferring with his small group of Circle mages. 

While Hawke spoke with Orsino, Fenris breathed slowly, calming himself and bringing his flaring tattoos back under control. The rest of their group was gathering together a short distance away from Anders, who was sitting on the crate with his head hung low. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. _It is too late for contrition,_ he thought angrily. If Anders thought to manipulate Hawke into forgiving him now, he would have to go through Fenris first. 

A soft and pleading whine drew Fenris’s attention, and he looked down to find Toby sitting at his feet with a familiar and annoying expression.

Fenris pursed his lips. “Always the puppy eyes,” he grunted. “Do not look at me that way. He does not deserve your sympathy or mine.”

Toby gave a sad little woof, then trotted away join the others. 

Orsino shook Hawke’s hand and ran off with his people in tow, and Fenris walked over to join her as she stood in front of Anders with her arms folded. “So,” she said. “Now what, Anders? What are we supposed to do now?” 

Anders kept his head bowed as he replied. “This had to be done. This is the justice that all mages have awaited.”

“Ah, Justice. That damned hitchhiker on your soul,” Hawke drawled. “Did he tell you to do this?” 

Anders lifted his face. “No,” he said firmly. “I told you before. When we merged, he ceased to be. We are one now. I could no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could.” He took a deep breath, then lowered his head again. “If I pay for this with my life, then I pay.”

Fenris snorted. “Paying with your life seems just to me,” he said flatly.

“I agree,” Sebastian snapped. 

Hawke ignored them and took a step closer to Anders. “Why didn’t tell me?” she said quietly. “Fuck’s sake, Anders, you could have talked to me. I asked you so many fucking times - why didn’t you just _talk_ to me?”

Her voice was steadily rising in volume, but Anders cut her off. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. For the first time that night, he sounded agitated. “I couldn’t give you the chance to stop me - or worse, to help me. I couldn’t-”

“I bloody well wouldn’t have helped you with _this_ , that’s for certain,” Hawke yelled. “I might be foolish, but I’m not suicidal.” She kicked his foot petulantly. “Is that what this is, then? Some stupid death wish? Are you really so eager to die?” 

Anders sighed. “If I die, then Justice would at least be free.” 

Hawke stared at him in silence, but Fenris had had enough of his self-sacrificing act. He tutted in exasperation and waved dismissively at Anders. “He wants to die. Just kill him and be done with it.” 

“Thank you, Fenris,” Sebastian said. “At least _someone_ here understands the true meaning of justice.” He shot Hawke a pointed glare. 

“Oh, come off it, both of you,” Isabela piped in. “I thought it was a bold plan.” 

Aveline glared at her. “Bold? It was irresponsible. Sincerity does not justify _this!_ ”

Merrill folded her arms, and Fenris vaguely noticed that the little witch looked more serious than he had ever seen. “Anders should come with us,” she said. “Do what he can to put things right.”

Varric rubbed his mouth and didn’t speak, and Hawke shot him a pitiful look. “Varric? What do you think?” 

He grimaced. “I think I’m sick of Templars and mages.”

Hawke wilted slightly, then turned back to face Anders, and Fenris could see the distress and indecision creeping over her face like a shadow. Then she reached around herself and absently scratched at her left-side ribs. 

A sudden surge of sympathy dampened Fenris’s irritation. All at once he knew what she was thinking. First seeing Carver walk away with Meredith, and now the possibility of Anders dying… Fenris knew exactly what she was thinking. 

Hawke sighed heavily, and when she gave her verdict, Fenris wasn’t surprised. “All right, Anders, you’re sticking with us,” she said. “You’re going to help get us out of this alive, or so help me, I’ll skin you myself with Isabela’s dullest dagger.” 

Anders looked up at her, the resignation in his face wiped away by surprise. “You mean… stay with you? I… I didn’t think you would let me.”

“Hawke, you cannot be serious,” Sebastian expostulated. “If you let this abomination live, I’m leaving!”

Hawke stared at him with wide eyes. “ _What?_ You can’t leave now!”

Sebastian glared at her. “I thought I knew you, Hawke. I gave up Starkhaven to serve the Maker, but he has clearly turned his back on Kirkwall.”

Hawke reached for Sebastian’s wrist. “Sebastian, come on. Don’t be like that-” 

He wrenched his arm away from her. “I’m going straight back to Starkhaven. And I’ll bring such an army on my return that there’ll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. _This_ was a twist he hadn’t been expecting. Sebastian was usually so calm and reasonable. 

Sebastian took an aggressive step toward Hawke, and Fenris held up a hand to hold him back. “Sebastian,” he said quietly.

Sebastian’s lip curled with rage. “Fenris, _you_ know this is against the Maker’s plan,” he railed. “Everything Hawke is doing here… This is wrong, and you know it.” He grasped Fenris’s shoulder. “You should come with me. Help me lead my army back here to raze this evil place to the ground!”

Fenris steadily returned his gaze. Sebastian had a valid point, but it didn’t matter. Fenris had long made his peace with what mattered most. 

He shook his head. “I am sorry, my friend. But I stand with Hawke.”

Sebastian drew back as though he’d been struck. Then he glared at Hawke with fresh outrage. “I will come back and find your precious Anders,” he spat. “I will teach him what true justice is!” Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away. 

There was a brief and ugly silence. Then Isabela chuckled. “How invigorating,” she purred.

Hawke hiccuped a little laugh, then hastily wiped her face. “ _Invigorating,_ ” she said, then gave another little snort of laughter. “You know what’s invigorating? Having secret sex in someone else’s house during a party. This is _not_ what I would call invigorating.” 

Isabela perked up. “Ooh,” she said. “Now _that_ was a very specific example. Someone’s been keeping secrets from me.” She winked at Fenris, and he shot her an annoyed look. 

Aveline patted Hawke’s shoulder encouragingly. “Come on, Hawke. If we’re doing this, we had better get moving.” 

Hawke sniffed hard and nodded, then gave them all a bright smile. “All right, you beautiful fools. Let’s go.” 

They all set off at a brisk jog toward the docks, and it wasn’t long before Hawke was cracking jokes about Sebastian. “Honestly, it’s for the best that he left,” she said. “His piousness really cramped my style.” She elbowed Isabela. “We should do something _really_ sinful now that he’s gone. A public orgy in the middle of the Hightown market, you think?”

“Oh yes,” Isabela purred. “That’s how we can celebrate at the end of this disaster.” 

Hawke snickered, then reached out and took Fenris’s hand as they continued to run. “How about it, Fenris? Are you in for a public-”

“No,” he said flatly, and she and Isabela cackled. 

Then Hawke sighed. “Ah, who am I kidding. It’s not like I was ever anything less than my usual sinful self around him. Not sure why he’s surprised by anything I do, really.”

Fenris gently squeezed her hand. Her voice was light and cheerful, but her fingers were cold and tense. 

He waited until Isabela fell back to make some crude comment to Anders, then leaned toward Hawke. “I am sorry that he left,” he murmured. 

Her smile slipped for a split second, and she squeezed his hand in return. “Me too,” she whispered. 

They continued their flight through the Lowtown bazaar, but were stopped short by a group of Templars surrounding a young and terrified-looking Circle mage… who promptly burst into an abomination when a Templar drew her sword. 

Fenris sneered in disgust as they all drew their weapons. He concentrated his efforts on taking down the misbegotten mage, and when both Templars and abomination were dead, he gave Hawke a cutting look. “Remind me what Orsino said. ‘No blood magic in the Tower’, wasn’t it?”

She dropped her eyes and didn’t reply, and Anders glared at him. “Will you just leave her alone for once in your life?” 

“Shut your mouth, abomination,” Fenris hissed. “You lost your right to speak when you set this whole mess in motion!”

“Both of you shut up,” Hawke snapped suddenly. She scrubbed her hands roughly through her hair. “Just… shut the fuck up. Please.”

Fenris and Anders both obeyed, silenced by her uncharacteristic show of agitation, and the rest of the group turned to look at her with varying degrees of wariness. 

“Hawke?” Merrill said softly. 

Hawke shook her head slightly, then lifted her face and straightened her shoulders. “Come on,” she said brusquely. “Let’s just… let’s just go.”

They continued through Lowtown in subdued silence, taking down a multitude of Templars and demons and abominations while protecting a handful of supposedly innocent mages along the way. By the time they reached the docks, they were all considerably out of breath.

Hawke bent over and rested her palms on her knees. “All right, Bels,” she panted. She shot Isabela a little smirk. “Show us those magnificent sailing skills of yours, why don’t you?”

Isabela huffed in amusement and deftly hopped onto the smallest ship that could comfortably accommodate them all. “Piece of cake, sweet thing. I could sail this little skip in my sleep.” 

They all piled onto the boat, and soon they were en route to the Gallows. The majority of their little group gathered around the helm while Isabela steered, chatting quietly and making idle jokes, but to Fenris’s surprise, Hawke wandered away to stand alone at the stern of the boat. 

He slowly walked over to join her. He leaned on the railing and glanced at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

He turned his gaze to the water, and they stood in silence for a time. Then Hawke sighed. “I can’t believe he just… left. Maker’s balls, was he ever steaming mad. I’m pretty sure we could have cooked an egg on his head.” 

Fenris hummed an acknowledgement, and she shot him an accusatory glance. “You think Sebastian was right to leave, don’t you?”

Fenris shrugged. “I understand his anger,” he said. “He did not… Your actions were a surprise to him. Perhaps they should not have been,” he added as she opened her mouth in protest. “He has known you for years, after all. He should know where your alignment lies. But… you have not always seen eye to eye with him.”

“Neither have you and I,” she said defensively. “And you’re still here.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away to look out over the water once more. 

Fenris slowly straightened. “I have had time to adjust to this,” he said. “You know I am far from pleased about this. But I knew it was coming. I have made my peace with it.” He sidled closer to her and gently placed his hand on her hip. “Besides,” he said softly. “I have more important reasons to remain at your side.” 

Her face crumpled slightly. She lifted her eyes to the sky as though to blink back tears, and Fenris gently caressed her hip until she turned to look at him. 

She gave him a small watery smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, and she leaned into his shoulder. 

He ran his palm along her back. The same thought had occurred to him, but in a much more ominous way, and it was a concern that preoccupied him now as they silently watched the gently rippling waves. 

The coming fight was going to be bad. There was a distinct possibility that they might not all survive. Their group was undeniably strong and they worked together well, but there was only so much that could be done against the full might of all of Kirkwall’s Templars. 

_Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you._ Fenris had said this to Hawke not that long ago - mere months it was, though it felt like they’d been together for years. But the words were just as true now as when he’d first said them. If something happened to her because of this - because of what Anders had wrought…

“Hawke?”

Fenris scowled as Anders came to stand beside her. “Listen, Hawke. I just wanted to say-”

She spun toward Anders and slapped him hard across the face.

Fenris recoiled in surprise, and a sudden silence fell over the boat as the others all turned to look. 

Hawke glared at Anders for a moment, then suddenly hugged him around the chest.

Anders instantly wrapped his arms around her. His expression was sickeningly tender, and Fenris turned away in disgust. Anders had always been too fond of Hawke, and Fenris _hated_ it - almost as much as he hated the blasted mage himself. 

But the ugly possessive feeling in his belly was unwarranted and irrelevant. It didn’t matter if Anders held a torch for Hawke. Hawke’s feelings were all that mattered, and Fenris knew that those lay firmly with him.

He stared fixedly across the channel, taking in the forbidding sight of the Gallows in the distance as he listened to Hawke and Anders’s conversation. 

“You stupid fucking asshole,” she muttered, her voice thick with tears. “You shouldn’t have done this.”

“I had to,” he said softly. “There was no other way. You’ll see in time, Hawke. This is the only way things will change.”

“Things were fine as they were!” she retorted. 

“They weren’t,” Anders countered gently. “You know they weren’t. You helped me to get the apostates out of Kirkwall for years. You know things weren’t fine.” 

She didn’t reply. A few moments later, Fenris felt her arms wrapping around his middle.

He draped his arm around her shoulders, and she buried her face against his chest. Fenris pinned Anders with a glare, and the mage bowed his head and leaned his elbows on the railing. 

Fenris ran a soothing hand along Hawke’s arm and glanced pointedly over at Varric. Varric raised his eyebrows, then gave a small nod. “Hey, Hawke,” he called. “We’ve got a running bet on who can collect the most demon claws during the fight. You want in on this?” 

She briskly wiped her face, then turned to smirk at Varric. “Have you ever known me to turn down a bet?” she said. She peeled away from Fenris’s embrace and traipsed over to the helm to join the others.

Fenris waited until Hawke was firmly in the throes of a lewd back-and-forth with Isabela. Then he glanced at Anders. “You remember what we talked about at Chateau Haine,” he said.

Anders nodded once. “I remember.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “If she gets seriously hurt or… or worse, I will kill-” 

“I said I remember,” Anders snapped. Then he sighed and gazed out at the channel. “If Hawke dies, then I will want you to kill me,” he said softly. 

Fenris eyed him unsympathetically. “Good,” he said. “Then we are in agreement.” He turned away from Anders and went to join Hawke. 

She looked up with a grin as he approached. “I’m betting against Varric that Isabela will beat him in this little demon claw-collecting game. A risky bet to take, I know-”

“Hey,” Isabela said in mock offense. “I resent that lack of confidence.” 

“At least she’s rooting for you,” Varric drawled. 

“Don’t worry, Varric,” Merrill said soothingly. “I’m betting in your favour.”

Isabela tutted. “So disloyal, kitten. What did I ever do to you?” 

Merrill tittered, and Aveline _tsk_ ed and turned to Fenris. “I hope _you_ at least won’t get caught up in this childish game.” 

Fenris folded his arms and leaned against the side of the boat. “I’m sorry, Aveline, but my coin is on Varric.” 

Isabela clicked her tongue in annoyance, and Varric smirked at him. “I’ve seen how you play diamondback. You don’t have any coin.” 

Fenris casually inspected the clawed ends of his gauntlets. “Perhaps you are mistaken,” he said. “I have... _reserves_ you could only ever dream of.” He lifted one eyebrow salaciously.

There was a brief, nonplussed pause. Then the group exploded in an uproar of laughter and surprise at his faintly suggestive comment.

Hawke beamed at him and pinched his arm. “Double entendre from _you_? This is unprecedented. You’re stealing my thunder!” 

He admired the unequivocal mirth in her lovely face. “I may have acquired a taste for the occasional ribald remark,” he replied. 

“I’ve been a bad influence on you,” she purred, and she pressed herself firmly against his side.

“Yes, you have,” Fenris murmured. Hawke grinned at him, and he studied her happy face with a warm sense of satisfaction. 

Hawke and the others continued to joke and jest, and even Anders joined into the conversation. By the time the Gallows was within a stone’s throw, Fenris would almost have thought this was one of their routine daily trips.

The illusion was broken the moment they hit the docks. Bodies of mages and Templars alike were strewn from the docks up to the gate, and the sound of screaming and clashing swords was apparent even from this distance. 

Hawke frowned, but she looked far more purposeful and confident than when they’d first boarded the boat. “Let’s go,” she said, and they set off toward the Gallows at a run. 

Hawke’s staff was already in her hand, and by the time the first Templar came into view, she had already begun a storm of fire and lightning. Fenris drew his longsword, and the rest of their crew flew into action, taking the handful of remaining Templars by surprise and reinforcing the Circle mages who were trying to retreat to a makeshift barricade behind the Gallows’ gates. 

“Champion!” Orsino cried. He slammed his staff on the ground as they ran up the steps, sending a fork of lightning straight at a pair of Templars’ chests. “Thank the Maker you survived! Quickly now, we must reinforce the gates - the rest of the Order will be on their way…”

They ran up the steps in Orsino’s wake. “I don’t suppose you spotted my little brother, did you?” Hawke asked cheerfully. “I’m fairly sure I can knock some sense into him if I hit him _really_ hard.” 

“I’m sorry, Champion, I did not,” Orsino panted. He gestured for a pair of mages to close the gates behind them, then turned to Hawke with a grim expression. “I… we can’t guarantee his safety if he fights against us. But I’ll ask my people to keep an eye out for a Templar bearing his description.”

Hawke shrugged and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Well, I guess that’s better than a hole in the head.”

Orsino grimaced. “I apologize, Serrah Hawke. You have already done so much for us - if there was more I could do in return, but I must take care of my own…”

She shrugged dismissively, but Fenris noted that she didn’t look the First Enchanter in the eye. “I can’t blame you, really,” she said. “I would do the same.” She glanced around the gloomy inner courtyard, and Fenris looked around as well; the surviving Circle mages were congregated in small groups, talking in low voices with varying degrees of fear and anger in their faces. 

_A bad scene._ Fenris narrowed his eyes in disapproval. Magic combined with anger and fear… it was an extremely volatile combination, and one that he abhorred. 

How strange that he was now stuck in the position of defending it. 

Hawke pulled him from his dark thoughts with a gentle hand on his wrist. “Come on,” she said to their group. “Might as well find ourselves a quiet corner while we wait this out.”

They picked their way past the myriad mages until they found a clear spot. Hawke chivvied them all into a sitting position while Toby settled himself on his belly in the middle of their circle, and Hawke immediately launched into humorous chit-chat. “So where are we going for the victory celebration?” she asked. “The Hanged Man was wrecked.” 

Varric snorted. “Can’t blame them. People don’t like to pillage while sober.” 

Aveline shook her head in dismay. “I will never understand that. Why do people immediately fall to their baser instincts the moment a disaster strikes?” 

“Because it’s fun, big girl,” Isabela drawled. She leaned coyly into Aveline’s shoulder. “You should try it sometime.”

The others chuckled as Aveline pushed Isabela away, and Fenris was visited by an odd and disconcerting sense of deja-vu. They had all done this so many times over the years, gathering at Hawke’s mansion in front of the fireplace with Hawke’s mabari lolling lazily on the floor. To be doing the same thing here, in the dank and forbidding Gallows with the threat of war looming just past the gates… 

It was an ugly parallel, a corrupted reflection of some of the most pleasant moments Fenris had enjoyed during his life as a free man, and he couldn’t help but feel like this was all coming full circle in an ominous way. Like this was all oddly… final. 

Another ripple of laughter rose from the group at some remark that Varric had made, and Fenris gave his head a little shake. _No,_ he scolded himself. _Do not think this way._ There was no point being pessimistic. They had faced terrible odds before and come out alive. 

_But none of our previous scrapes were as bad as this_ , the bitter part of his mind chipped in. Importantly, Hawke had always had the popular vote on her side if things went wrong. As much as she hated being famous - or infamous, as it were - the reality was that her popularity had shielded her to some degree from any major repercussions. Her familiarity with the Viscount and the Arishok, and then with Orsino and Meredith, had forced many people to think twice before going after her. 

But that was all over now. The Circle mages had been blamed for blowing up the Chantry, and Hawke had publicly announced her support for them. The only people who would speak in Hawke’s defense were sitting in this courtyard, and they were all just as culpable as she, by association if nothing else. 

Fenris dragged one hand through his hair, wishing he could drag the negative thoughts away just as easily. _Na via lerno victori_ , he reminded himself. Fenris could not entertain any other possible outcome. Because any other possible outcome would mean -

“Fenris?”

He jolted in surprise as Hawke gently squeezed his arm. “Are you all right?” she murmured. 

“I - yes. I was simply…” He trailed off, then glanced at the others. They were still chatting, listening with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation as Anders and Isabela took turns telling some sordid tale involving an unusual degree of gesticulating, and none of them were looking at him or Hawke. 

He turned back to her. “I need to speak to you in private.” 

She lifted her eyebrows but nodded in agreement, and they rose to their feet. 

Fenris looked around the crowded courtyard until he spotted a secluded corner, hidden behind two pillars toward the eastern wall. “Come,” he said to Hawke, and he led her toward the corner. 

She chuckled as she followed him into the shadows. “Ooh, _this_ kind of private? Seems a bit of an odd time, but I’m not going to argue-” 

He abruptly penned her against the wall. Her eyes widened as he cradled her neck in his palm. “Hawke,” he rasped. “I… I must say this, in case I don’t get a chance later…”

“What do you mean, in case you don’t get a chance?” she murmured. She clasped his wrist firmly, her fingers wrapping around the faded red scarf she’d tied there so many years ago. “We’re going to be fine. It’ll be fine.”

Fenris studied her smile, the determination in her face - that blasted stubborn determination, that blasted _hope_. Here they were facing the worst possible circumstances, and still Hawke’s face was dripping with hope. Her brother was allied with the enemy, and one of her closest friends had dragged her into the abyss of his stupidity while another friend had abandoned her entirely, and here she was, smiling at him and telling him everything was going to be fine… 

It was a mask. That’s what Hawke’s hope truly was: a beautiful, delicate mask, and one that she would never cede until her dying breath. But Fenris knew the face that lay beneath that mask, the face that was scarred behind the smile and breathtakingly lovely and _real_ , and he loved it more than anything in this blasted world.

He leaned into her body, pressing himself flush against her and slipping his fingers into her hair. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “You once said… you said you didn’t want to assume that us meeting was that important to me.”

“I don’t,” she said hastily. “I really-” 

“It was,” Fenris interrupted. “It… Rynne, meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me.”

She shook her head. To his dismay, her smile was slipping away, changing into something almost angry. “Stop,” she said. “Stop it, Fenris. Stop saying goodbye.” 

He swallowed hard. “I - I didn’t mean… that is not my intent,” he said weakly.

“That’s what it sounds like,” she retorted. Her one hand was still clasping his wrist, and her other arm was curling around his waist. “I won’t have any of that shit, all right? I won’t… don’t you say goodbye. I won’t fucking have it.” 

Her voice was shaking, and Fenris’s throat was swelling, thickening in response to her tremulous tone, and he gritted his teeth to hold it back - 

And then her fingers were gripping the back of his tunic while his hands gripped her hair, and Fenris kissed her more ravenously than he ever had in his life. If ever there was a time to drown himself in the torrid heat of her, it was now. 

He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she gasped harshly against his cheek when they broke apart, and then he was lifting her in his arms. 

Her legs were around his waist. Fenris pressed himself into the cradle of her hips and groaned into her mouth as she undulated ruthlessly toward him. She pulled his hair and pressed her breasts toward him, and he surrendered to the heat of her lips and the sleek tangle of her tongue until she pulled away from him with a gasp. 

She clasped his face and pressed her forehead to his. “No fucking goodbyes, all right?” she breathed. “Promise me that. I’m not ready… I’ll never be ready for that. No goodbyes, not from you.”

“Then I want you to promise me you won’t die,” he said fervently. “I can’t bear the thought of living without you.” 

“You won’t,” she whispered. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled. “I don’t plan on dying today.”

“You’d better not,” he growled, and he kissed her hard. 

She whimpered against his lips, and he leaned his full weight into her body, pinning her firmly against the wall. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that this torrid embrace would keep her safe - that _he_ could keep her safe: that the cage of his arms could trap her here, that his lips could stop her wayward tongue from talking herself into harm’s way, that the wall of his body could hold her hostage and stand between her and the hideous world that would conspire to pry her away from him. 

He broke their kiss and pressed his lips to her ear. “Be safe, Hawke,” he whispered. “You _will_ keep yourself safe. I won’t accept anything else.” 

She gripped the back of his neck and nodded. “I’ll make that promise if you do.” 

He wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist and trailed his lips along her jaw and back to her parted lips. “I promise,” he breathed. “Nothing will keep me from staying at your side.” 

She inhaled a sobbing little breath, and then they were kissing again, her hands on his face and her tears on his cheek, and Fenris molded one hand over her ribs until she was gasping for air. Her hips were rocking against him as he panted against her lips, and Fenris knew it was the seriousness of the moment at play, that the tension of this terrible situation was heightening their mutual desperation to a fever pitch, and he’d never thought he would feel _this_ kind of primal urge while surrounded by a bunch of rebellious mages about to go to war. But as Hawke arched her back and curled her hips toward him, he couldn’t help but wish they had a little more time.

 _Time_. That was what he wanted with Hawke: time to be together, to make up for the years they’d lost - those years that she’d waited and that he’d failed to give her, and… _Kaffas,_ he needed more fucking time. Time to love her properly and to love her well, and - 

“They’re here! The Templars are here! To arms!”

He and Hawke broke apart at the sudden cry. Fenris hastily lowered her to her feet, and they breathed heavily for a moment, his body still pressing her firmly against the wall.

Hawke tilted her chin up to brush his lips. “Come on, handsome,” she whispered. “Time for a show.”

He nodded and reluctantly stepped away from her, and they ran back to the others. 

The noise in the courtyard had amplified considerably. Aveline scowled at them as they rejoined the group. “Hawke! Where were you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with worry.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Do you _really_ need them to answer that?” 

“Mages!” Orsino’s voice cut through the anxious chatter. “Take your positions, and keep your guard up. You all know what is at stake here tonight. Fight as well as you can, and may the Maker have mercy on us.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “What kind of speech was that?” she muttered. Then before Fenris or anyone else could stop her, she stepped up onto a nearby crate. 

“Hey, everyone!” she yelled, and the subdued crowd turned to look at her. “Do your best, all right? Drinks are on me at the end of all this. Save all the lives that you can - the bigger the victory party, the better!”

A wave of (albeit nervous) laughter ran through the crowd, followed by a brief round of applause, and Hawke hopped back to the ground with a grimace. “Well, no one’s ever lauded me for my public speaking abilities, that’s for sure.” 

“You can say that again,” Varric said, and Hawke grinned and punched him in the shoulder. 

“Hawke,” Merrill said suddenly. She grasped Hawke’s hand in both of hers. “Lethallan, I… Thank you for everything.”

“Yeah,” Varric piped in. “Thanks, Hawke. It’s been… ah, you know.” He cleared his throat and patted Hawke’s elbow.

“Oh no, not you too?” Hawke exclaimed. She slung one arm around Merrill’s neck. “Shut the fuck up with this, all of you. We’re going to be fine!” She bent over and kissed Varric on the forehead, then straightened and grinned at them all. “Now come on. First on the field, right? We’ve got the two best warriors in the Free Marches. Let’s show them off.” She slapped Fenris and Aveline’s asses, then bolted off toward the gates. 

Fenris and the others ran after her, and not a minute later, the gates opened and the Templars began pouring in. 

Fenris snarled and set his scars to life, and Isabela quickly kissed Hawke on the cheek and melted into the shadows. Hawke cast a barrier over Fenris while Anders cast one over Aveline, and Merrill slammed her staff on the ground, raising the sickening green glow of her Dalish magic around her feet. “May the Dread Wolf take you!” she cried.

Varric cocked his crossbow and raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “Kill count competition. You in?”

“You’re on,” Fenris snapped, and he threw himself into the fray. 

He tore an unerring line straight through the enemy forces. He ducked swiftly from a Templar warrior’s swing and slammed his fist through the man’s chest before sending a chaotic pulse of energy from his lyrium scars into the surrounding foes. As he continued to work his way through the oncoming wave of Templars, he noticed something unexpected.

The Circle mages were... surprisingly controlled. They’d formed small defensive groups and were coordinating their elemental and physical attacks in a strategic manner, and none of them had yet become abominations. Perhaps there was hope for them yet…? 

But one mage in particular appeared to be getting more and more agitated as the battle raged on. 

Orsino gave a distressed cry, and Fenris glanced over to see the First Enchanter kneeling beside a group of three dead apprentices. When Orsino lifted his face, a cold jolt of foreboding trickled down Fenris’s spine. 

Orsino’s face was a hideous mask of uncharacteristic rage. His eyes were literally glowing with it. 

He met Fenris’s stare, and his expression slackened back to its usual look of worry. “Watch out,” he shouted, and he pointed his staff just over Fenris’s shoulder. 

Fenris dodged away, and Orsino’s blast of ice encased a dagger-wielding Templar at Fenris’s back. Fenris nodded stiffly, then flew back into the fray with a fresh buzz of concern.

When the first wave of Templars had been subdued, Fenris jogged over to Hawke’s side. “Are you all right?” he demanded. 

She nodded and wiped her sweaty forehead. “Yes,” she said. “Better than some of these others, at least.” She grimaced as she studied the dead bodies around them.

“Damn,” Orsino swore.

Hawke and the others turned to look at him. He was kneeling again and holding the hand of one of his dead compatriots, but his face was creased with fury. 

“Damn her,” he said, and he rose to his feet. “Damn them all! Why not just drown us as infants? Why give us the illusion of hope?” He took a deep breath, then began to pace restlessly. “I refuse to keep running. I won’t wait for her to kill me!” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Orsino’s face was feverish with zeal, and Fenris could see exactly what was coming. “I knew it,” he growled. “I knew you were a hypocrite. Hiding your secrets and preying on Hawke’s trust - it was just a matter of time!”

“What are you talking about?” Hawke demanded tensely. “What’s going on?”

Orsino replied before Fenris could respond. “Quentin’s research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside. But there is no other way.” 

“Quentin?” Hawke said sharply. “You’re not - you don’t mean that fucker who killed my mother?” 

Orsino steadily met her gaze. “Meredith expects blood magic? Then I will give it to her,” he announced. Then he slashed his wrist with a tiny dagger. 

“Well, this is bloody well unexpected,” Isabela drawled. 

“Nothing these mages do surprises me anymore,” Fenris snapped. Then he stared in horror as the dead mages around Orsino’s feet begin to rise, reanimated by his monstrous spell… then got _incorporated_ somehow into Orsino himself as he transformed into the most repulsive abomination Fenris had ever seen. 

“Damn,” Varric breathed. 

“Maker’s fucking balls,” Hawke said. She was holding her staff at the ready, but she looked as though she’d been punched in the gut. 

“Stand down, mages! Drop your staves _now!_ ” A small group of Templars suddenly appeared at the entryway into the Gallows proper, and they all whipped around. 

“Great. Just what we fucking need,” Hawke hissed. But before any of them could so much as blink, Orsino’s engorged conglomeration of corpses bolted toward the Templars.

 _Venhedis,_ the thing moved fast - faster than should have been physically possible. The Templars released a cacophony of screams and shouting, and moments later, they were all dead on the ground, eviscerated by Orsino’s many claws. 

Then the monster that was once the First Enchanter turned to face their group with a hideous screech of rage.

“Not a fucking chance,” Hawke snarled, and they flew into battle once more. 

Fenris hacked at the creature’s every grasping limb, cleaving one of the bloated creature’s legs so that it fell onto its many hands. Varric’s bolts thudded into the creature’s body in swift succession, and Anders’s well-aimed blast of fire exploded across the creature’s head. From the corner of his eye, Fenris noticed Merrill and Aveline ushering the remaining mages to safety, and then they joined into the fight as well. 

The abomination was shrieking, an ear-splitting shriek of anger and pain. Then its head suddenly sprang away from the body.

Fenris gaped as the head-creature flew through the air, then landed on two gangly limbs a mere meter away from Anders.

“What in the Maker’s - get back!” Anders yelled. He kicked at the head, then hastily slammed up a barrier as the creature expelled a gobbet of noxious fluid at him, and Fenris was visited by a sudden and very inappropriate desire to laugh. 

He shrugged off the juvenile urge and darted toward the head-creature, but before he could cleave through its writhing rat-like tail, it skittered off toward Isabela. 

“Ugh!” Isabela exclaimed, and she managed to slice a nasty wound into one of its skinny claw-like arms before it struck her with its tail.

She cried out and grabbed her bleeding thigh. Fenris snarled and bolted toward the monster once more, then grabbed its tail. “Aveline,” he shouted. 

“Right behind you,” the Guard-Captain yelled, and she cleaved the tail clean off. 

The head-creature released the most hair-raising screech yet, then began to glow with an evil aura of magic that made Fenris’s palms blaze with pain. He gasped in surprise and unwittingly released the bleeding creature, and it shot off toward Hawke. 

“No!” Fenris blurted, and he bolted toward it. But before he could get within reach, Hawke slammed her staff on the ground. 

The head-creature was instantly entrapped in a cage of magic - the same kind of cage Hawke had used to entrap the Arishok almost four years ago. She lowered her staff for a moment and curled her lip. “Not just blood magic, Orsino, but _this_ kind of blood magic?” she demanded. She shook her head in disgust, then spun her staff and swung it toward Orsino’s perverted form. 

A blazing conflagration engulfed the entire cage, and the creature released a scream of agony. A minute later, Hawke’s inferno faded to a pile of smoldering embers. 

The head-creature was dead, rendered to a blackened husk of flesh and crumbling bone. They all stared at it in shocked silence for a moment. 

Hawke took a few small steps toward the husk. Then, to Fenris’s surprise, she spat on it. 

“That’s for lying to me so spectacularly,” she hissed at the smoking husk. She carefully pushed back her bangs and sighed, then looked up at them all with a brittle smile. “Shall we?”

They made their way along the path that would lead into the Gallows proper, and Fenris reached for her hand. “Hawke-” 

“Please don’t say ‘I told you so’,” she snapped. “That seems to be the theme of this entire day. I don’t need the reminder, I assure you.”

He grasped her wrist and pulled her to a stop. She sighed and shifted her weight to one hip, and Fenris waited until she looked him in the eye. 

“Are you well? Your mana is not… weakened?” he asked quietly. Her face was pale and her posture slumped, and Fenris’s belly writhed with anxiety as he remembered the last time she’d used that particular cage spell. Hawke’s magical cage was one of her strongest works of magic, but she rarely used it, and it had taken years for Fenris to realize the reason why: it was an enormous drain on her mana.

The last time she’d used this spell was on the Arishok. And she had almost died of overexertion afterwards. 

She shook her head. “I’m fine. I feel all right, Fenris, honestly.”

He fought to keep his voice even and calm as he replied. “Maybe Anders should examine you just in case.”

She smirked. “You want Anders to examine me? A little kinky, but all right, I guess he can join us in a roleplay thing-”

“Do not joke about this,” Fenris interrupted. “I… Rynne, you promised me. No foolish chances. You can’t… I can’t bear it -”

“I know,” she broke in. She stroked his chin with her thumb. “I know, Fenris. I mean it, I’m fine. I’ll take a lyrium supplement, all right? I’m keeping my promise.” She kissed him swiftly, then tugged him along to catch up with the others. 

The barracks were empty save for a dozen shades and rage demons, and Fenris kept a careful eye on Hawke as they felled their foes. She looked more serious than usual, but her attacks were as swift and powerful as they always were. She took the promised lyrium draught at the end of the battle, and by the time they reached the doors to the outer courtyard, she didn’t look any more fatigued than the rest of them. 

But there was no time for Fenris to be relieved: Meredith was there, with Cullen and Carver at her sides and two dozen Templars at her back.

Meredith folded her arms. “Here we are, Champion. At long last.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Meredith’s tone was… odd. Strangely smug, somehow. 

“Yes, at long last indeed,” Hawke chirped. “Your people, my people… Shall we have a picnic? I think Ser Cullen could use a drink. Maybe take off some of that big, heavy armour.” She winked at Cullen, and Fenris couldn’t decide whether to be amused or exasperated that the Templar Captain’s face went red even now of all times. 

“Your humour will not save you,” Meredith snapped. “You’ve done this to yourself. You were never part of this Circle, and I allowed it. But -”

Hawke snorted. “You _allowed_ it?” she said bitingly.

Meredith ignored her. “You have gone too far. In supporting the Circle, you’ve elected to share their fate.”

Cullen frowned. “Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to arrest the Champion.”

Meredith spun toward him. “You will do as I command, Cullen,” she barked.

Fenris stared at her with growing consternation. This was undeniably strange. On the few occasions that Hawke had spoken to Meredith, the Knight-Commander’s manner had been cool and starkly logical. Her odd temper, even the odd lashing quality to her movements… it was all ringing an uncomfortable bell at the back of Fenris’s mind. 

Cullen drew back slightly at Meredith’s tone, then squared his shoulders firmly. “No,” he said. “I defended you when Thrask started whispering that you were mad, but this is too far.”

“I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!” Meredith yelled, and she drew her sword and pointed it at Cullen. 

Fenris took an instinctive step back. Her sword was red - a violent, glowing, crystalline red. 

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks,” Varric breathed. “That… that’s red lyrium.”

“The idol,” Hawke blurted. She grabbed Varric’s shoulder. “Maker’s balls. Well, it looks a lot more sword-like than I remember.” 

Meredith jabbed her finger in Hawke’s direction. “All of you - I want her dead!”

“No!” Carver suddenly shouted. He pushed past Meredith to stand in front of Hawke. “I won’t kill my sister for you,” he announced. Then he grunted in surprise as Hawke slammed into his back and flung her arms around his chest. 

“Oh Carv, thank the bloody fucking Maker,” Hawke whimpered. “I thought you’d - I thought -” 

“You dare to stand against the Templars?” Meredith shouted, and she took an aggressive step toward the Hawke siblings. 

Fenris pulled his blade from his back, but before he could move, Cullen stepped in front of Carver. “Enough!” he shouted. “This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, I relieve you of your command. Step down now.” 

Meredith gaped at him as though she’d never seen him before. And now that Fenris knew what was going on, it was clear that Meredith wasn’t seeing any of them, not really. All she could see were the delusions that the red lyrium had planted in her fevered mind. 

“My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic,” she said slowly, then spun toward the other nervous-looking Templars. “You all have! Allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me - but I don’t need any of you! I will protect this city myself!”

“She’s lost it,” Varric lamented. “Just like Bartrand.”

Anders scoffed in disgust. “I hope nobody minds if I don’t try and heal _her_ , though,” he said scathingly. 

Meredith slammed the tip of her sword into the paving stones. “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” she prayed, and her sword began to glow and pulse malevolently. 

“Stay back!” Cullen barked at the surrounding Templars, then hastily raised his sword to deflect Meredith’s wild swing. 

Their swords clashed together with a sonorous _clang_ , and it was like a dam breaking: the Templars backed away from the violence as Hawke and Fenris and all their crew surged toward it. 

Meredith didn’t hold the title of Knight-Commander for nothing; she was strong and surprisingly fast despite her heavy weapon, and Fenris was mildly perturbed by how much effort he, Cullen, Carver and Aveline had to put in to wear her down. More concerning still, the magical attacks that Hawke, Anders and Merrill were pouring down seemed to irritate Meredith more than doing major damage. 

Thus it was a blessing when Isabela stepped out of the shadows and slashed Meredith across the back of her thighs. 

The Knight-Commander grunted and stumbled off-balance, and a trio of Varric’s bolts slammed into her left armpit. 

Meredith released a howl of rage and pain as she fell to her knees, and Fenris surged forward and swung his sword toward the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. 

His blade slammed against a crystalline collection of red lyrium that was somehow sprouting from Meredith’s flesh. 

Fenris drew back in shock as Meredith fell to one hand from the impact, thrown off balance but apparently unharmed. “Maker,” she panted, “your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!” Then, to Fenris’s surprise - and everyone else’s as well, he was sure - she sprang into the air like a blasted grasshopper. 

“How in the Maker’s name-” Cullen gasped. 

His voice was drowned out by a resounding _smash_ as Meredith pierced the tip of her lyrium sword into the platform at the top of the stairs. Pulses of evil red energy throbbed from her sword out toward the enormous iron statues that flanked the platform.

Then the statues began to move. 

Fenris gaped at the statues as they creaked to life. “What vile magic is this?” he demanded. 

Anders snorted in disgust. “Templars using dark magic. Oh, the irony.” 

“Shut up, Anders,” Carver snapped.

Hawke burst out a distinctly hysterical-sounding laugh. “Boys, boys! Save your bickering until _after_ we take down the moving statues, all right?

“Good idea,” Aveline called. “What’s the plan, Hawke?” 

Hawke nibbled her lip, her face sinking into the focused frown that she adopted for battle planning. “Let’s, um - focus on the joints, I suppose. Limit their mobility. They’re not really alive, so… I hope we don’t have to actually worry about killing them? What do you all think?”

There was a general murmur of assent. “Better than standing around like idiots, I suppose,” Carver said. 

Hawke barked out another laugh and hugged his arm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, baby brother,” she said, and she pulled at his arm. “You’re with me. Also you, Fenris, and Varric too. Anders, Merrill, Av and Bels, you’ve got the other one, all right?” Without waiting for a response, she set off toward the left-hand statue at a dead run.

Hawke’s idea worked quite well; her freezing attacks rendered the joints brittle while Carver, Fenris and Varric focused on breaking them, and soon the statues’ blade-wielding arms were shattered on the ground.

But the hideous slave statues hanging from the courtyard pillars began to move as well. Then Meredith sprang back into the fray and went straight for Carver’s undefended back.

“Not my brother, you bitch!” Hawke screamed, and she raised her staff high. 

“Hawke,” Fenris bellowed. He knew what she was about to do, but she’d done this once already today and it was too much, she couldn’t do it a second time, _no_ \- 

He sprinted toward her, but it was too late; she slammed her staff on the ground and encased Meredith in a cage of blazing-white magic. 

“ _Venhedis fasta vass,_ ” Fenris swore. He skidded to her side. “You can’t do this again!” he shouted. “It’s too damned dangerous, Rynne-” 

“Just fucking kill her already, will you?” she yelled back at him, her face twisted into an expression of fury and concentration. 

Fenris growled at her, but there was no choice; the cage was already constructed, so he might as well limit how long she had to hold it. He strode toward the magical cage, then clenched his fists and _pushed_. 

The dark energy of his scars flared out, reaching through his skin and through the flickering bars of Hawke’s cage. Meredith bellowed with pain and rage, and Fenris gritted his teeth as his lyrium marks flickered with faint fingers of the flaming agony that Meredith must be feeling. 

He maintained the pulsing of his marks for as long as he could. He stumbled to one knee, bracing himself on his sword as he took a breath, and vaguely he noticed that Meredith had also fallen to her knees. 

Fenris panted for a moment and glanced around to make sure Hawke was still standing. Her staff was pointed at Meredith’s cage, and with her other hand she was raising a casing of ice around a nearby statue’s flailing arms. Her face was pale and tense, but when she caught his eye, she shook her head. “Do what you need to do,” she called out. 

Fenris nodded sharply, then looked around at their companions. They still were desperately fighting the statues, but Fenris was pleasantly surprised to note that they didn’t seem to be doing too badly. 

“Anders,” he shouted, and the mage turned to look at him with wide eyes. 

Fenris jerked his head at Meredith. “Get over here and attack her.”

Anders scowled. He blasted a statue with lightning until it shattered, then turned back to Fenris. “If you didn’t notice, our magic wasn't working so well on her before. What makes you think-”

“Your magic will work now,” Fenris snapped impatiently. “Just do as I asked.”

Anders continued to scowl, but he finally ran over to join Fenris and struck Meredith with a blast of spirit magic. His eyes widened as Meredith flinched with pain. 

“How dare you!” she expostulated. “Maker, grant me strength-”

Anders ignored her and shot Fenris a surprised look. “How did you know this would work?” he asked. 

Fenris shrugged. “I… am not certain,” he admitted. “It just… I felt it.” He scratched his head uncomfortably, then waved an irritable hand at Meredith. “Just concentrate, will you?”

Anders glared at him, but he spoke no further as he began to freeze Meredith’s body from her fingers to her wrists and up to her shoulders. 

“Fenris,” Hawke said.

He whipped around to look at her, and his heart leapt into his throat. Half a second later, he was standing beside her and bracing her weight as she stumbled back. “I’m getting a bit tired,” she said. 

Her voice was faint. Her face was so pale. She slumped against his chest, and the magical cage dissolved. 

Toby bolted over to her side and gave a high-pitched whine, and Fenris looked around desperately. “Carver! Aveline!” he hollered. 

The two warriors whipped around, and their faces transformed with almost identical expressions of horror. “Rynne!” Carver yelled. 

Fenris carefully lowered her to the ground and shook his head in a sharp negation. “Kill Meredith,” he told them. “Toby and I will protect Hawke.”

“Fenris, it’s - I’m still…” Hawke took a deep breath, then attempted to smile. “Just drag me to a corner until this is finished. The others need you.” 

“I need _you_ ,” he retorted. He shot Anders a sharp glare. “You will heal her,” he hissed. “Right now.” 

“Of course,” Anders said. He pushed himself shakily to his feet, then collapsed to his knees next to Hawke’s head and settled his trembling hands near Hawke’s temples. 

She reached up feebly to push him away. “Anders, don’t - you’re… you’re almost as bad as me. You can’t…”

“Yes, I can. I have to,” Anders said firmly. “Just… lay still.” He fumbled at his belt and pulled out a flask of lyrium solution, then gulped it down before returning to his ministrations.

“S-stop…” Hawke muttered, but her eyes were half-closed. 

Toby whined again, and Fenris’s throat constricted with fear. “Anders,” he hissed. 

Anders shot him a sharp look. “Go kill something, why don’t you? Neither Hawke nor I can do that right now, if you haven’t noticed.” He closed his eyes and went back to working on Hawke.

Fenris swallowed hard, then looked around. There were still a handful of statues thrashing around, and one of them had almost cornered Varric. 

Fenris cast one last desperate look at Hawke, then surged to his feet and bolted toward the statue with his sword in both hands and Hawke’s growling mabari at his heels. Minutes later, when he and Varric and Toby had destroyed the statue, they ran back to Hawke’s side. 

To Fenris’s vast relief, she was sitting up, and her cheeks were already recovering from their deathly pallor, but her face was haggard with distress as she shook Anders’s shoulders. “Wake up, you stupid asshole,” she begged.

“Is he dead?” Fenris asked. 

“Not yet,” Hawke snapped. She rifled in her belt and pulled out three flasks of lyrium potion, then chugged them in quick succession and extended her palm over Anders’s forehead. 

“Hawke, be careful,” Fenris warned. “If you harm yourself-”

“Fenris, I love you, but right now I need you to shut the fuck up,” she said. Then she closed her eyes and began muttering. 

Fenris scowled as she worked. A few minutes later, Anders’s eyelids fluttered, and he took a slow breath. “Hawke?” he muttered. 

She sighed in relief, then gave his cheek a little slap as she pulled the remaining lyrium flasks from his belt. “That’s it. Rise and shine.” She unscrewed a flask and carefully fed it to Anders. 

By the time Anders and Hawke could both stand on their own two feet again, the battle was all but done - all but Meredith, that was, though it was quite clear that the former Knight-Commander was an inch from defeat. 

The others crowded around as Carver, Cullen and Aveline ruthlessly battered her with maul and swords. Then Hawke clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Give it up, Meredith,” she said. “Even your own Templars can see that you’re full of shit. It’s over.”

“Never!” Meredith yelled. “I will not be defeated!” She darted away, then slammed her lyrium sword into the ground once more. “Maker!” she cried, and she bowed her head. “Aid your humble servant!” 

The lyrium sword flared again, and Hawke sighed in disgust as she pulled her staff from her back. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered. 

But Fenris frowned and held out one hand. “What… what is happening to her?” he said slowly. 

They all watched in an increasingly bemused silence as the sword’s pulsing red energy crawled up Meredith’s arms, leaving trails of lyrium crystals in their wake. Then Meredith lifted her head, and they all recoiled: her eyes were a blazing, crystalline red, and it seemed as though the lyrium was dripping from her eyes and fusing to her face.

And then she began to scream. 

The fine hairs at the back of Fenris’s neck stood on end. He watched in horror as the lyrium continued to pulse and crawl over Meredith’s body, her shrieks escalating in volume and pitch until they suddenly stopped.

The silence was sudden and sharp. And Meredith was… well, she was…

“Is she… dead?” Cullen asked.

Varric shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Curly. But I wouldn’t try to find out if I were you.” 

Fenris stared at the ghastly remains of the Knight-Commander. She was… red lyrium. Somehow she’d been completely transformed into a static figure of red lyrium. 

Hawke released her grip on Fenris’s hand and gave a low whistle. “Maker’s balls, she sure was seeing red at the end there, wasn’t she?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly at them, then slumped in disappointment. “What, no laugh at all? Tough crowd.” 

Varric snorted as Isabela chuckled and shook her head, and Fenris took her hand and pulled her close. “You are an idiot,” he said. 

She grinned at him. “Only for you, Fenris. Only for you.” 

“Hawke,” Anders said sharply, and she and Fenris looked up. 

The Templars were slowly approaching, and about half them had their swords drawn as they surrounded Hawke and their crew. 

Hawke clicked her tongue in disgust. “Oh, come on. We’re the ones who incapacitated your crazy commander!” She glared at Cullen. “You can’t be serious with this.” 

Cullen stared at Hawke for a long moment. Then, finally, he sheathed his sword. “I must report on these events. The Divine will need to know immediately,” he said. He frowned authoritatively at Hawke. “Stay here, serrah,” he ordered. “Templars from Val Royeaux will soon be here. They will need to know of your… involvement.” 

Then he waved an arm at the Templars. “Follow me,” he told them. “We must clear any remaining demons from the Gallows.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched away. 

Hawke, Fenris, and the rest of their crew watched as the Templars followed in Cullen’s wake. As soon as they were out of sight, Hawke _tsk_ ed. “Fuck that,” she announced. “He must be touched in the head if he thinks we’re staying put. After all this? They’ll kill us in a heartbeat. We have to make a run for it.” 

“I don’t think Cullen truly intended for us to remain here,” Fenris said slowly. “He left no guards. And the gate to the docks is wide open.”

Hawke turned to look at the gate. “Ahh. Maybe you’re right. I always knew he had a thing for me.” She winked at Fenris. 

He squeezed her hand. “We must go,” he said. “Now, before the Templars come.”

She nodded. “All right, let’s get going. I’ve always wanted to be fugitive from the law. It sounds so very sexy.” She looked around at all of them. “Ready, everyone?”

“Hawke,” Aveline said gently. “I can’t go with you. Not this time.” 

Hawke’s determined smile slipped in shock. “What?” 

Aveline placed a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but my place is here. I’m the Captain of the Guard, and Kirkwall’s people need me now more than ever. There’s no one else whose first priority will be making sure the civilians are safe.” 

Hawke stared pleadingly at Aveline. “But how will I know right from wrong without you scolding me for my poor life choices?” she said plaintively. “Come on, Av, run away with me. Leaving burning wreckages of towns behind is our special thing.” 

Fenris watched with a sympathetic pang as Aveline shook her head. “You’ll be fine without me, Hawke. You don’t need me to tell you what’s right and wrong. Not that you listened much anyway.” She smiled fondly at Hawke, who gave a wet little laugh. 

“Ah, all right, stay here if you must. I don’t need a mum anyway. I’m a grown woman,” Hawke announced. She kissed Aveline on both cheeks and squeezed her hands, then smiled at Carver. “At least I’ll be trading out one beefcake for another. Ready to be a runaway again?”

Carver shuffled his feet awkwardly and dropped his eyes. “Actually, Rynne… I’m staying too.”

Fenris’s stomach dropped as Hawke’s face fell into a look of utter, unguarded hurt. “You… why?” she asked.

“I’m… The Templars need me,” he said. He looked extremely uncomfortable. “Ser Cullen is not like Meredith. He’s not,” he said defensively as Hawke gave him a skeptical look. “The Templars will be better with him in charge. He could use the support.” 

“ _I_ could use the support!” Hawke blurted. Her eyes were shining with tears, and Fenris rested one palm on her back as she stared at her brother. “Am I really that bad, Carv, that you’d pick the Templars over me?” 

“It’s not about you!” Carver snapped. “Everything isn't always about you, all right?” 

Hawke stepped back as though she’d been struck, and Fenris raised his eyebrows in rebuke. Carver sighed and rubbed his face. “Rynne, I… I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, then pulled her into a hug. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please come,” she whimpered. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Carver’s face was twisted with distress, but he shook his head. “I need to be here,” he rasped.

Hawke sniffed and hugged him harder. Then Aveline took a small step forward. “I will keep an eye out for him,” she said. “Don’t you worry, Hawke. He’ll be well looked after.” 

“I don’t need…” Carver began, but he closed his mouth as Aveline frowned.

Hawke pulled away from her brother, then hiccuped another little laugh at the look on Aveline’s face. “Now there’s that motherly look I’m going to miss,” she said, then she sighed. “All right, fine, you two can keep each other company. Anyone else want to stay behind?” She smiled weakly at Isabela. “How about you? You in the mood for a little cut-and-run?” 

Isabela shot her an offended look. “You’re never going to let that go, are you? Besides, I’m not a madwoman. I’m coming with you, sweet thing.” 

Hawke smirked and squeezed Isabela’s hip, and Varric gave them an apologetic look. “Hate to break this up, but we really gotta go…”

“Right,” Hawke said. They said their goodbyes to Carver and Aveline, and Hawke hugged them both once more.

She started to pull away from Carver, but he squeezed her for a moment longer. “It’s not - I’m not picking them over you, all right?” he muttered. “I just… it’s-”

“It’s okay, Carv,” Hawke interrupted softly. “I… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” 

Her tone was determinedly lighthearted. Fenris gently stroked her shoulder. “Hawke,” he murmured. “We should…”

She nodded, then kissed Carver noisily on the cheek. “Bye for now, baby brother,” she whispered. And the remainder of their group ran for the docks. 

They piled onto the least damaged boat that they could find, and Hawke rubbed Toby’s ears as Isabela cast off. “So, where should we run to? I’m open to suggestions,” she said cheerfully. “The Bone Pit? No one would look for us there.” 

“That place is cursed,” Fenris drawled. “We are not hiding there.” 

“Ooh, superstitious much?” Isabela teased.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at her. “I have been splattered by enough blood and innards for one evening. I refuse to add spider guts to the mix.” 

“The elf makes a good point,” Varric chimed in. 

“Where do you think we should go, Varric?” Merrill asked. “You hate the wilderness. I don’t think you’ll be happy with any place we have to go.”

“We’ll go to a city, then!” Hawke chirped. “Somewhere nice, like Rialto in Antiva. They make my favourite brandy there. We can buy a whole lot for cheap, fill a pool with it, swim in it…” 

“I’m not sure that a pool filled with brandy should be our first priority,” Anders deadpanned. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Hawke retorted. “‘Pool filled with booze’ is literally the first item on my emergency preparedness checklist.”

“Come on, Hawke, that’s a lie,” Varric said. “We all know you’re not organized enough to have a checklist.” 

Hawke and the others chuckled, and Fenris listened quietly as Hawke spent the trip joking around with her bright and lovely smile fixedly in place. Isabela steered them into a tiny smuggler’s dock at the outskirts of the city so they could pillage a few basic supplies, and then they sailed west toward the Planasene Forest. 

They docked on the riverside after about two hours of travel, then continued by foot along the coast for most of the night, moving as fast as they could given their collective exhaustion. Hawke and Anders were more fatigued than the others, and Fenris tried not to worry at the increasing pallor of Hawke’s face as they hiked along the forested coast. By the time they’d deemed it safe to stop and rest, the eastern horizon was hazily lit with the first signs of impending dawn, and Fenris was half-supporting Hawke’s weight. 

Merrill slipped away to hunt some small game for a meal, and Fenris kept guard while Isabela and Varric set about building a fire. Hawke rolled out a threadbare blanket and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Come and sit, Anders,” she said. “You look about as strong as a pint of the Hanged Man’s ‘special’ ale.” 

“Can we talk alone?” Anders said. 

Fenris looked up sharply. He frowned as Hawke rose to her feet and followed Anders to a grassy hill a short ways away. The two mages spoke for some time, and from Hawke’s increasingly emphatic hand gestures, Fenris was fairly sure what was happening. 

She shoved Anders in the chest, and her slightly raised voice floated over to Fenris’s keen ears. “Fine,” she said. “Go. See if I care. You’ll be sorry next time you need a laugh and you have only your precious Venjustice to keep you company.”

She shoved him once more, and Anders pulled her into a hug. A minute later, Anders disentangled himself from her arms and walked away, leaving their camp and Hawke behind. 

_The first good decision he has ever made,_ Fenris thought acidly as he watched Anders’s departing back. But he couldn’t find it in him to be vindictively pleased by Anders’s departure, not when he knew how Hawke would feel about it. 

He glanced askance at Varric. Varric nodded and lifted his crossbow to take over guard duty, and Fenris sheathed his sword and walked over to Hawke’s side. 

She was sitting in the grass and gazing at Kirkwall’s distinctive cityscape in the distance. A heavy fug of smoke still hung over the Chantry, and lesser smoke clouds were peppered throughout the city, likely a result of pillaging and other altercations. 

Fenris sat beside Hawke. Her face was glazed with tears, and she didn’t bother to hide them as he looked at her. 

“Anders is gone for good?” he said. 

She nodded and wiped the tears from her chin. “Good riddance, I say,” she said. “He was always more trouble than he was worth, with his healing-people-for-free bullshit and his obsession with cats. Everyone knows that cat people are complete kinky deviants deep down.” 

Fenris gently took her hand. “It’s for the best,” he said. “He will soon be the most wanted man in the Free Marches. Associating with him is akin to suicide.” 

She snorted. “You sound just like him,” she said. She shot him an accusatory look. “You’re happy he’s gone.”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “I respect his decision to leave. He is protecting you.”

Hawke snorted again and wiped her face. “Why everyone thinks I need protecting, I’ll never know. I’m a big girl. I tie my own boots and everything.” 

“You asked me to tie your boots two days ago,” Fenris reminded her playfully. 

“That was one time!” she protested. “I was trying to do my eyeliner! We were running late!”

Fenris huffed in amusement and slid his arm around her shoulders. She tucked her cheek against his shoulder, and they sat quietly for a moment, Hawke sniffling intermittently and wiping her face as Fenris smoothed his palm along her arm. 

“I am sorry, Hawke,” he murmured. 

“What for?” she muttered. “ _You_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I am sorry that he… that they left,” he said softly. ”And... about the estate.” He trailed off awkwardly. What he really meant was that he was sorry she was losing her home and family once again. He was desperately sorry that she was hurting. If only he could protect her from this, deflect this pain like a shield deflected weapon strikes… 

But Fenris had never been much of one for shielding. Attacking, yes, but shielding had never truly been his forte. 

Perhaps that was something he would have to change. 

Hawke’s tears were dampening his shoulder, but she shrugged casually. “Ah, the estate isn’t a big deal,” she said. “Just a house and a bunch of stuff. We were going to sell it eventually anyway, right? Buy a little house for just us...” She trailed off, then chuckled and wiped her eyes. “Best laid plans and all that.”

Fenris stroked her arm in silence, fully aware that she had ignored his mention of the others leaving. Then she leaned away slightly to look at him. “You know what I _do_ regret leaving behind? That book you wrote. The one with all the nice things you said about me. I wish I had that.” 

He shook his head and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t need it. I am right here.”

“I know,” she said. “But still… I loved that book. That was the best gift anyone ever gave me.” 

He gazed into her sad and lovely eyes. “Well, as circumstances would have it, I happen to have another gift for you.” He reached for the smallest pouch on his belt. 

Hawke watched in surprise as he rifled around in the pouch with some difficulty. “How do you have a gift for me on your person, now of all times?” she asked incredulously.

“Good fortune, to be honest,” he said. He finally pulled a small velvet sachet from his pouch and offered it to Hawke. 

She took the pouch with wide eyes, then carefully upended the contents into her palm.

It was a ring. The band was black, made of onyx-tinted steel and shaped into twisted lines not unlike the tattoo on Hawke’s back. In pride of place in the center was the Heart of the Many: the heart-shaped blood-red jewel that Tallis had given Hawke after their foolish debacle at Chateau Haine.

Hawke gaped at the ring as Fenris explained. “I had it made by that dwarven craftsman in the market. It has been in my pocket for a week. I had wanted to give it to you earlier, but I was hoping for an appropriate moment to arise. Foolish of me, perhaps, knowing our lives.” He smirked at her.

She stared at the ring for a moment longer, then lifted her shining eyes to his face. “Is it…?”

“It is an engagement ring,” he confirmed. “I understand that this is the human custom.” He shrugged awkwardly; he was beginning to feel unnerved by Hawke’s lack of reaction. “Aveline and Isabela approved. Well, Isabela did not approve the marriage aspect, but the elaborate jewelry aspect-” 

Hawke burst into tears. 

She clenched her fingers around the ring and pressed her fists to her face, and Fenris pulled her into his lap and tightly wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed. He held her until the storm of her tears had lessened into the odd breathless hiccup, then gently kissed her cheekbone. 

“Is it to your liking?” he whispered. “You do not have to wear it if-“ 

“No,” she blurted. “No, no, I _love_ it. I - Fenris, it’s beautiful. It’s fucking perfect.” She hiccuped again and wiped her face, then smiled at him and opened her fist. “See if it fits?” 

He nodded, then lifted the ring from her palm and slipped it carefully onto her finger. 

Hawke studied the ring and beamed at him. “It’s perfect,” she said. She clasped his face and stroked his cheekbones with her thumbs. “ _You’re_ perfect. You’re the most perfect man in the whole of Thedas,” she told him, and she kissed him. 

Fenris cradled her head, running his fingers through her short hair as he tasted the salt of her tears on her lips. A long moment later, he pulled away and stroked her cheek. “I am glad it fits,” he murmured. “I am not sure how we would get it resized otherwise. We really should avoid towns and cities for some time-”

“Don’t,” Hawke said. She shook her head and stroked his chin. “Don’t talk about where we’re going next. Forget about the future right now. Let’s just… sit in this moment. You just gave me an engagement ring,” she said, and she laughed brightly. “This is a perfect moment, Fenris. Just sit with me in this moment, all right?”

He nodded. “As you wish,” he whispered. 

She smiled, and for the first time that night, it was an unequivocally happy smile. It lifted her cheeks and the corners of her eyes and set her amber eyes to dancing. Hawke laughed again, then kissed him once more. 

Fenris wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and cradled her neck in his palm. Their kisses were slow and gentle and unhurried, a complete contrast to everything else they had done that day, and Fenris savoured the sweetness of this moment, just as Hawke had asked. And yet he couldn’t help but think about the future.

It wasn’t going to be easy. Even with Anders gone, Hawke was notorious, and she would be hunted for months to come. They would have to run and hide for months, possibly longer still.

 _Running once again,_ Fenris thought ruefully. After seven years of relative peace, he was on the run yet again.

But this time was completely different from the last. This time, he was free. More importantly, he wasn’t alone. 

This time, he was running with Hawke at his side. As long as they were together, Fenris would face any coming threats with his sword held high. 

As long as he and Hawke were together, Fenris knew there was a future worth having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a few wonderful readers:  
> \- @emileoutofit on Tumblr, whose comments and entertaining DA and ME chat always brighten my days.  
> \- Faerieavalon and barddoc1992, who have been with me through multiple ships, and whose comments always bring me joy.  
> \- Zenmeister, who never fails to make me cackle with unending mirth.  
> \- Lilibet, whose enthusiasm and comments always make me smile.  
> \- Lylypuceonarchive, whose comments and support warms my heart. Merci, mon amie!
> 
> And last but certainly not least, Schoute. You know what was happening while I was writing this beast of a chapter. Bitch, I don't even have words. I'm not crying, YOU'RE crying. I love you to Weisshaupt and back. xoxoxox
> 
> To anyone I didn't mention: I know you are there, and I appreciate your comments and kudos and messages on Tumblr more than I can say! 
> 
> Next up will be Fenquisition adventures! Here is a [Tumblr drabble about Fenris the Inquisitor](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/181944377843/fenquisition-preview-new-friends) that I posted a while ago, and here is the link to the Fenquisition fic itself, which is quickly becoming monstrously long: [Lovers In A Dangerous Time.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806493/chapters/42011807) Otherwise, you can also check out [my modern bartender FenHawke AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710157/chapters/41780090) or [the pirate AU that I am co-creating with my darling friend Schoute.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18862420/chapters/44769256)
> 
> Feel free to [reach out on Tumblr if you like,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and Rynne and Fenris will see you all soon. xoxo


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